


Ninety-Nine

by gintokiu



Category: Gintama
Genre: Action Dueling, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Battlefield, Blood and Violence, Cussing, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other additional characters to be added, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gintokiu/pseuds/gintokiu
Summary: He sweating terribly, hands trembling as he repeats over and over again Tamegoro’s words from last night in his mind like a sinner in prayer. Once more his eyes linger for Mitsuba, and once more he’s sorely let down when he can’t find her to take comfort in, if only a little bit. Hijikata forces his attention to the stage, watching the Escort inhale to say the name of the chosen.“And our final contender for district five is…"





	1. Crystal Bowls Show a Much Darker Fate than a Crystal Ball Ever Could.

**Author's Note:**

> oop here we go, another thing for alex to procrastinate her actual work with teehee
> 
> I said I was gonna do this and then I did it and I liked it but like, it wasn't right. so I wrote this. which is right. or at least feels right. yes.
> 
> also I just wanted an excuse to force myself to get better at fight scenes because I feel like I lack in that area of writing and momma didn't raise a quitter. anyways, I'm gonna shut up now. I have homework galore to do. please enjoy. 
> 
> (also I got a chapter up before midnight?? who am I???)

_“No more! No mo―!”_ The man beneath him screamed, hands frantically grasping for Gintoki’s neck. Gintoki, however, wasn’t listening and once more, an unforgiving fist swept across an already bloody nose. He heard the crack, not bothering to look at the damage he’d dealt as he raised his hand and prepared for another. 

“Gin-chan! We’re gonna be late!” 

“P-please_―! You’ll never see me again! I swear―”_ The man babbled, blood getting caught in the back of his throat. Gintoki gives him one final glare before he rolls off, the unsuccessful thief tripping over his own feet and crashing into a table as he scrambled to leave the bar. The perm dusts off his dirty clothes, straightening his collar. 

“Thank you as always, Gintoki… I’m confident that will be the last time I see his stupid face here.” Otose says, cigarette lit as soon as she finished her sentence. 

“Just trying to steal?” He inquires, sitting down next to Kagura on a worn bar stool, finger lightly touching at his busted lip from the one hit the man managed to lay. 

“Something like that, but you know how this area is. We get all sorts of criminals in here all the time.” 

“Gin-chan, seriously, we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now! I’m hungry!” Kagura reiterates and Gintoki only rolls his eyes, wiping off his lip with his hand. He’d _just_ sat down. He motioned for her to get up with his head, sliding off the stool after her. 

“Catharine and Tama coming back soon?” He asks and Otose nods, saying that it should be any second now. He sighs and the two of them bid Otose a farewell for the time being, the squeaky bar doors shutting loudly behind them. 

There’s a certain buzz to this part of the district, one that you didn’t find closer to the Hall of Justice and the richer households. People moved around outside more, little shops set up around every corner selling whatever trinkets they could to get a little more money, dogs running around with children who were both long overdue for a bathing. The slums were their own world in the district, one where nameless old men would tell stories from their lumberjack days or life before the war if you only asked them. Gintoki and Kagura had done it several times, going around giving some of the elderly smuggled food in exchange for past life experiences.

Kagura loved those days and although they had been planning to snag Shinpachi along for one, they hadn’t yet gotten the chance to. The kid was always busy with the Center, him and his sister cleaning rooms, washing clothes in the river, cooking food Gintoki brought home for the others. There was hardly a day that a Shimura was seen outside that worse for wear building, with everyone in there being the work-a-holics they were; Katsura especially. 

Gintoki couldn’t talk much though because he was right there with them, if he didn’t also take care of Otose and her bar then he would rarely go outside too. 

They round the final corner, ducking underneath the fence and foliage that lead to the Center. He holds up some vines for Kagura to crawl under too, reaching his hand out for her to take once she got through. Consequently, that leads to Gintoki giving her a piggyback ride the rest of the way, not that he minded.

Just down the hill, the roof of the Center peeks out from behind the two old pine trees, just as it has since he was a kid himself. The Shoka Sonjuku Center for the Homeless, his first and forever home. He can already hear the kids in the back playing, most likely with Sadaharu, and the insistent arguing of Katsura and Takasugi right outside the front porch, nothing new. 

Kagura’s got tufts of his hair in her hands that she’s using to keep herself stable, not that Gintoki would ever let her fall, but the decline to the Center could be unforgiving at best some days. Katsura and Takasugi stop as soon as they spot Gintoki, instead crossing their arms like some disappointed mothers. 

“What’s that from?” Takasugi calls out loudly, knowing good and well what he was doing. 

“Could you shut up?” Gintoki grumbles, letting Kagura down off his shoulders. She immediately runs off towards the back to be with the rest of the kids.

“He’s gonna see it anyways, I don’t know why you’re trying to hide something you know is inevitable.” Katsura surmised, flipping the hair blowing in his face away. 

_“You don’t know that,”_ is what Gintoki would’ve said if the door didn’t open behind them, cutting him off. Gintoki’s eyes roll into the back of his head, already hearing the lecture. “I’m going to see what?” Shouyo begins, peeking outside and into the conversation. Immediately, he catches a good long look of Gintoki’s lip, the innocent and angelic smile dropping off of his lips as he closed the door and stepped outside. “Gintoki, how did you possibly get this?”

His chin gets lifted up with pale, slender fingers and his first instinct is to yank his head away, but he knows better than to do that to Shouyo, of all people. “I was at Otose’s.” 

_“Mmm,”_ He hums knowingly, the story already forming in his head. “And what did I tell you about using such strategies to keep her safe?” 

“Not to.” 

“That’s close, but not entirely.” Shouyo lets go of his jaw, hands gracefully coming together behind his back. “The more attention you bring to her and yourself the more attention you bring to us.” 

“I know but this guy pulled some broken glass on her, you know how I get―” 

“I do, but you need to think of the children here that need our help too. I’m not saying you are wrong for what you did, considering how nasty your knuckles are...” Shouyo pauses, watching Gintoki look at his hands, “but I am saying that there are many different ways to deal with such situations and beating a man half to death is not always the only option― despite what you may think.”

Shouyo smiles, eyes wrinkling at the corners. Gintoki gives up his argument knowing his master is right, and apologizes underneath his breath. Even at the age of twenty, Shouyo had him wrapped just as tightly around his finger as he did when he was ten; though that wasn’t the least bit surprising. 

“Now that that’s settled, when you two are done with your petty bickering, the three of you can follow me inside to help the kids get ready for tomorrow.” Shouyo says, delighted in the flushed faces caught in the wrong. “Everyone needs a bath, then food, and afterwards we have to sit them down and give them the speech.” 

Katsura and Takasugi bow, following their master into the building. Gintoki takes the opposite route, wanting to enjoy the gentle breeze rustling the trees before he goes around to the backyard through the garden, picking a half-ripe wild strawberry and stuffing it in his mouth, the bitter taste making his nose scrunch. 

He calls the kids to come inside and shortly, he’s on his way to helping the younger kids bathe. He gets them through first, the warmer the water the less complaining and crying that it was too cold, and the healthier their immune systems were. The older kids go last, cutting their bath time down to mere minutes. Gintoki makes multiple trips to the well for freshwater, having to stuff his finger in the tiny hole in the old wooden bucket so the water wouldn’t leak all over the house. 

Thanks to Shinpachi and the kids all being clean tonight, the house smells better than it has in many moons. There are even some flowers scattered around, held together by a tied vine from outside. Although Otae couldn’t cook to save her life, she could arrange some flowers better than anyone he knew.

Flowers and home-made soap aren't the only things filling up their air however, because Shinpachi and Katsura are portioning out the kid’s plates, the smell of beans, bread, and a couple of ducks Gintoki had killed yesterday making his stomach grumble. He walks into the tiny kitchen, the heat from the stove immediately making him wish he was back outside in the cool summer breeze. 

“Who dressed the ducks?” 

“I did,” Shinpachi replies, handing a child a plate. “I’ve never done it before but it wasn’t too hard, Katsura-san said I didn’t waste any meat so I’m pretty proud of them.” He sheepishly laughs, not straying from his task. “Is Otose-san doing okay?”

“Yeah, the old hag’s still kicking.” He retorts, helping Katsura put beans on plates. “Where’s Otae?”

“Washing clothes for tomorrow at the river.” 

Gintoki hums in reply, the last kid finally served. He puts his own portion of beans down onto his plate, turning around to get some of the duck. There are only a few pieces of bread left so he lets the others have them, still feeling guilty from his talk with Shouyo earlier. 

He makes Otae a plate so he has a reason for going outside again, escaping from the kitchen’s heat into the outdoor’s fresh air. The chirping of nightly animals and insects is already beginning to echo through the woods, the bumble of movement up the hill beginning to die down with the sun. He has faith Otose will be okay tonight because of Tama and Catharine, but he still might make an extra trip later just to be sure. 

The grass is growing tall around the swing again, and Gintoki makes a note to himself to get the scythe out when he gets a chance, lest they want a repeat of the snake incident from last year. He ducks under the oak tree’s bizarre limb, the splashing of clothes being washed mixing in with the river’s normal flow. Otae is on her knees, cuffs of her dress rolled back, apron tossed beside her. 

He knows he’s not noticed, so he sneaks up beside her, whispering a soft boo in her ear. She jumps and recoils, swinging at him with a wet shirt. 

_“Gintoki,_ you bastard!” She grabs for him, pruny wet hands slipping right off his skin.

He just laughs, sitting down next to her. “I brought you food so you’d better be nice to me before it ends up in the river.” 

“You wouldn’t.” He raises his eyebrows at the remark and she just scoffs, wringing out the shirt and placing it in the bucket to be hung up later. 

He takes a bite from his plate, watching her work. They sit like this in silence for a while, Gintoki trying to clear his mind. Her shoulders are tense and it’s not just from his silly prank, they both know that. There was a reason she was down here washing the clothes alone instead of with Shinpachi like she usually did. Everyone was on edge, leaving to perform household duties alone with their thoughts. He was just as guilty, the garden or riverside being his most common retreat. 

“You’re worried.” He states, placing his empty plate next to him and taking over the clothes so she could eat, the bugs growing increasingly hungry for her food. She doesn’t say anything to his words, staring out towards the small waterfall further down the bank. “You know I’d volunteer for him if he got picked. I wouldn’t let him go.” He whispers, the rhythmic calls of frogs sounding around them as the sky grew darker. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” She begins, eyes still fixed on something distance as she chewed. “But what happens next year when you get taken out of the picture? Who will keep him safe then?”

Gintoki wrings out a pair of small tan pants, water dripping down his arm, wetting his rolled sleeve. “Shouyo would keep him alive. You know he’s the best mentor out there, you see it for yourself every day.” 

Otae doesn’t say anything back, both of them knowing that prospect was not failproof. Shouyo had no way of controlling what happened in the arena, aside from some measly sponsorships and an information card, at best.

“I’ll volunteer for any of our girls that get picked.” She says, turning to face him. “I’ll keep them safe.” 

“You already know I have the boys.” Gintoki finishes her thought, continuing with a grim lighthearted laugh. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve given anybody much of a chance. My name is in the bowl probably fifty times; I stopped counting after thirty.” 

“That’s how much tesserae you’ve gotten?! _Gintoki!”_

“Chill, better me than Katsura or Takasugi and you know that.” He says, hand raised in defense. “Besides, we’ve got a lot of stomachs to feed and if there’s anyone I’m going to trust to do that and live through the games it’s Gin-san.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes as she gave up the argument. Gintoki wrings out the last item of clothing, standing up with the bucket of clothes and taking them to the clothesline. Piece by piece, the kid’s clean shirts, pants, and dresses were hung to dry overnight, smelling faintly of river water. The sun is now completely down below the horizon, the last few gleams of orange and pink quickly being swallowed by the moonlight.

The two of them make their way back to the house, opening the doors quietly not to interrupt anything. Sure enough, Shouyo was in the large main living space, the children sitting all around him, listening intently to his words. 

“And that’s why it’s important that you never tell anyone about this place because we wouldn’t want to put anyone in danger, would we?” He’s using his quiet voice, the one you knew better than to defy. The kids shake their heads accordingly and Shouyo sweetly smiles, standing up from his chair. “Okay, bedtime!” His master puts his hands together, motioning for the rooms. “I’ll be there soon to check on everyone.” As the kids run off, Gintoki makes eye contact with him, Shouyo motioning for Gintoki to follow. 

He, of course, does as he’s told, led out to the front porch where the broken wind chime hung. Shouyo sits down, Gintoki right next to him, their legs hanging off the deck. Shouyo’s long, always combed hair is blowing softly with the breeze, his legs crossed and hands delicately placed in his lap. “I have a bad feeling about tomorrow.” He admits, watching the pine tree’s leaves sway. “I don’t know what it is, but I have a terrible feeling. I just need you to be ready for anything.”

“You know I am.” Gintoki says, leaning against the roof’s support pillar. 

“I know you are, but I’ve never had this feeling before a reaping like this. Are you familiar with the recent political changes in the capital?”

The perm’s brows furrowed in confusion, the question catching him off-guard. “No, why?”

“There have been some threats made to the president from many sources, most tying the people making the threats to the president’s vice president.” Shouyo elaborated, Gintoki still not understanding where he was going with this. “Just be cautious, Gintoki. If something has to be done tomorrow think twice before doing it, alright?” He nods, knowing that although he didn’t completely understand, it was better just to do as his master said. “Now I need to go check up on those kids, I’ll be around later.”

“Y-yeah...” He mumbles out, the word feeling foreign in his mouth. The door closes quietly behind him, leaving Gintoki alone in the nighttime. He decides that he needs to go say something to Kagura, with tomorrow being her first reaping. So he picks his tired legs up and takes himself into the house, calling Kagura out of her room and into the garden where his thoughts were the clearest. 

-

The room’s silence was growing thicker by the minute, weighed down by the loud ticks of the grandfather clock behind him. He had a book in his hand that was open but he hadn’t read a single word of it since he got it, not even the title. All he had to do was wait here until the clock chimed for eleven…

“Toshiro.” His brother said, calling through the darkness of the room with his stern voice. “You know what day it is tomorrow, why are you still awake at such an hour?” 

“I― uh, couldn’t sleep...” Hijikata confessed, knowing good and well that wasn’t the truth. 

“Well, that’s understandable given the circumstances. However your name is only in the bowl a few times, you have nothing to worry about.” 

“Y-yeah... you’re right.” 

“Alright, get some sleep now. I’ll talk to you in the morning before we leave.” 

“Yes, nii-san...” Hijikata watches Tamegoro leave in the reflection of the shadow box, the master bedroom door shutting quietly behind him. Hijikata puts up his book, the minute hand just hairs away from touching the sixty mark. Hijikata slips on his shoes to the best of his ability, his right heel hanging out of the fabric. 

The chime for eleven sounds loudly through the house and Hijikata pushes open the front door in the noise, making his escape into the outside air. Shoes still falling off, he runs down towards the river, smacking his forehead on a tree’s tiny branch as he made his way through the brush. The run isn’t too far but the exhilaration of it all has his breathing ragged and uneven, the thrill of sneaking out never dying since he was a kid. 

He can hear the river’s water running gently over the crunch of dead leaves and twigs underneath his feet, and distantly he wonders if she’s already there. Has she been waiting long? Is she cold? Should he run back and get his coat? 

He doesn’t have much time to think over the options however because he makes it to the clearing, Mitsuba sitting on the flat rock she always sat atop of on nights like these. She turns her head towards him, tan hair looking white as the moonlight hit it from the top, her pale face paling lighter as the water reflected it from the bottom. She’s got her hands in her lap, her white and berry colored dress without a wrinkle to be found. As always, she’s breathtaking. 

“Hi.” He breathes out and she just laughs, her shoulders tensing, a weird air between them. She offers him a spot next to her and he takes it, sitting down close enough that he could feel her warmth. 

“It seems like it’s been forever since we started doing this, don’t you agree?” Mitsuba smiles with her almost careful words, watching the river flow and hop around the smooth rocks peeking out of the water. 

He hums in agreeance, letting his mind float. Their words are both gentle, as if they said something too loud the night would slip away right from their fingers. Hijikata doesn’t know what to talk about, he never did when the time actually came, it was always Mitsuba controlling the conversation, letting him get lost in her. 

“It’s been eight years today since we began doing this every month…” She begins, pausing to figure out her words. “We sure have talked about a lot down here, haven’t we?” 

He nods his head in reply, caught up watching a frog leap into the water with a splash. She’s watching it too, posture never dipping, prim and proper as always. There’s a long stretch of silence that falls over them, surrounding them with the calls of nighttime animals and insects like a warm blanket. Over the water, lightning bugs are glowing, dancing, spread through the trees like woodland fairies. 

“Sou-chan is worried.” She states, hesitation in her words. 

“I can imagine.” He pauses, thinking through his words. “I’m worried too,” Hijikata admits as he watches her lip purse. “I can’t volunteer for you if you get picked, it’s terrifying.” She doesn’t say anything back, eyes distant. “I won’t let Sougo go if he does get picked. You know I won’t.”

“I know.” 

There’s something wrong in those words. This isn’t the type of Mitsuba he usually met the night before reapings, the type so worried about her brother that she’d be softly sobbing on his shoulder while Hijikata offered his reassurances. There’d been something off the entire time, the lack of closeness, the distance in her voice like she was somewhere else, not quite all in the moment. He doesn’t want to pry, but he feels like it’s also his job to take care of her, to make sure she’s alright when she leaves to go back to bed. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers carefully looking down at her, catching the gleam of moon in her eyes. There’s something that flashes in her face, pinching it into something deeper. He turns his body to face her more, hand reaching out to touch one of her slender fingers. Her hands don’t move in reply.

“There’s nothing wrong, you know how I get―”

“That’s bullshit―” He retorts and immediately regrets it, the words coming coldly across his lips. “T-that’s just not it...” 

She swallows hard, still unable to look him back in his eyes. “I just…” She begins, words falling short of her tongue. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Hijikata’s face drops, the sentence heavy. Immediately his mind is swarmed with a magnitude of answers, possibilities, and futures, however none could even compare to the reality she was about to hit him with. 

“I’m getting married.”

His thoughts blank, mouth dropping open as emotions welled up in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. The air around them goes cold, weighted, like he’d been sucked into an inescapable void, slowly draining the life out of him. The gentle flow of water seems to disappear, the lightning bugs and their dances, the calling of nighttime creatures all gone in a mere instant, as if they’d never even been there before, only made up in his mind’s fantasy. 

He draws his hand back from her own, like he’d be burned if he kept it there any longer. Everything is too close, her breathing, her warmth; things that used to feel like home are now foreign, with only their ghosts to look back fondly on. Memories of a hundred nights spent together at this spot since they were kids now painfully jabs at his heart, prodding open a fresh bloody wound. 

He stutters out a sentence, not sure if the words made sense or were any bit of coherent. Mitsuba’s eyes flutter, filling up with her own emotions. “My parents, Toshiro... they’re making me―” 

Hijikata doesn’t know what to say back so he doesn’t, picking up himself carefully off of the rock and backing away. He thinks he hears his name called behind him but he’s not sure, too hurt and confused to do anything other than push aside tiny trees and keep from tripping over his own feet. He’s lost, entirely lost, and the door to his home is difficult to open with how much his hands are trembling. 

When he does get himself inside, the grandfather clock is silent, the insistent ticks drowned out by his mind’s trickery. He kicks his shoes off behind him, not bothering to clean off the mud from the river bank or to place them organized in the shoe stand. He stubs his toe on a chair in the dining room trying to make his way through the darkness, cursing louder than he definitely should have. 

His room is cold, dark, candles unlit sitting quietly in the corner of his room, bright bright moonlight peeking through the thin curtains. He doesn’t know what to do, flopping down onto his bed without changing his clothes, forcing his eyes closed into a very sleepless, tormenting night. 

-

The loudspeaker blares through the morning’s quiet buzz once and then two times after that, at the beginning of every hour. Gintoki, Takasugi, and Kasura had been up even before the first, preparing a quick breakfast and helping Shouyo and Otae get the kids dressed and ready. Shouyo was currently braiding the girls hair and securing it up neatly with a pin, Kagura running over to Gintoki and making him put in the hair clips he’d bought for her a while back. 

Gintoki’s got on his white button-up shirt tucked nicely into his khaki pants, along with his nicer belt, all only used once a year for the reaping. The shirt is small on him, it had been since he turned sixteen and there were hints of permanent off-white sweat stains forming in the armpits from eight years of terrible anxiety. 

Every cell in his body wishes he was getting ready for work instead of throwing on these fancy clothes, the ragged plaid shirt with more patches in it than the original fabric far more comfortable than this suffocating white one. 

Finishing up with Kagura’s hair, Gintoki hears Shouyo bid the house farewell for the time being, having to get to the reaping earlier than the rest of the district. 

After everyone is fed, clothed, and taken care of it’s almost time to leave, Katsura rounding up the kids not old enough to be reaped and making sure everyone has on everything they need to, Takasugi simultaneously going through the same speech Shouyo gave the kids last night.

Otae is separating the kids old enough and ineligible, leading the kids that were too young out of the house and up the path. Katsura is helping her and Gintoki and Takasugi have the eligible group, explaining that they were going to prick everyone’s finger to get them registered. 

Getting everyone out of the ready and out of the house was the easy part.

Now, the reaping.

-

He hurts. 

Not physically, emotionally. He’s bogged down with last night's thoughts and this morning's regrets, stuck in between them all. He shouldn’t have left her on that bank alone without making sure she got to her house safely, like he always did. He was just swept away, that was the only way to put it.

Very much like the feeling he’s experiencing now, the line heading out of the Hall of Justice pushes him out of his thoughts and into the stark reality before him. He starts filtering into the men’s line, rubbing the end of his finger with his thumb, already feeling the ghost of the needle. There’s a line of peacekeepers that are sorted out by age, splitting the one line into multiple. 

He can hear the peacekeeper’s consistent chants, one person after the other pricked and checked in. The voice is getting louder and soon enough, he’s next. Distantly, he sees Sougo’s head waiting in his group, eyes not roaming around like every other fearful qualifier. 

“Next,” The peacekeeper calls, the guy behind Hijikata nudging him not quite gently up to the table. He begrudgingly sticks his finger down, the small sting of the needle drawing blood before being pressed onto the paper and scanned. “Next,” The woman calls again, sending Hijikata off on his way. He’s lead into the men’s line, forced to stand and wait to see what fate had in store for him as he gnawed at the inner corner of his lips in anticipation. 

He can hear a young girl crying loudly in the front of the women’s line, a common occurrence on reaping day. He didn’t blame her, everyone was scared; after all, they weren’t the career districts, no one would be saving them if they were to be picked. 

It seemed that on reaping days, what little color industrial district five had dropped from the world, everything a little more grayscale. Complexions paled, clothes were delicately washed, and nothing stood out, as if the bowl would purposely pick you if you did. He was sure it made the people in the capital quite impressed at their flock’s coordination.

He sees the Escort talking to their districts previous winner, a man he’d met on a previous occasion briefly, not knowing it was him. He wasn’t exactly the most praised man in the district like most winners were, with the majority of people thinking he was a bit of a joke with how he carries himself and how he actually won the games. An accidental victor they called him, or _“his accidency.”_ He wasn’t exactly sure how the man won, because he tried to watch as little of the games as possible. 

Once the lines were completed, the peacekeepers blockaded the back, shutting off the ones eligible to compete those ineligible. The Escort, a woman with bright purple hair tied back into a bun adorned with far too many flowered pins walks up to the mic, what little whispering there was shut off by the click of her boot’s metal soles. 

“Hello!” Her voice rang throughout the air, a piercing noise following as the equipment adjusted to its loudness. “Welcome to the seventy-third annual Hunger Games…” She smiles, the makeup smudged out the side of her eyes making her look like a wild bird. “I know you’re all very… _excited_ to be here but first, we have a video brought to us from the Capital! Roll the clip, please~” 

Heads all turn simultaneously to the two giant screens, the insignia of the Capital switching immediately to a clip of a bomb being detonated while a deep-voiced man talks about the first treasonous war against the Capital. Somewhere halfway, Hijikata stops listening, eyes searching the crowd for Mitsuba, memories of last night flooding back to him. 

However, he can’t seem to find her and before he can take another look around, a peacekeeper warningly glares at him through the tint of his helmet. Hesitantly, he draws his head back up to the screen, the video just about over. 

_“This is how we remember our past, this is how we safeguard our future.”_ What a load of bullshit.

“What a masterpiece!” She says, smiling at the contenders in front of her. “Now, without further ado, it’s time to pick one brave male and female to represent your glorious district! Shall we say... ladies first?” She slides over, long, colored nails digging gently into the bowl of names. Finally, her fingers rest on a single piece of paper, the silence so thick it could be cut with a knife. She makes her way back to the microphone, the rubbing of the paper together as it was opened sinking in his stomach. “Imai Nobume!” She calls out cheerfully as she looked around the crowd, following the eyes that pointed to the owner of the name. Unfaltered, the girl steps out of her line, compliantly and emotionlessly making her way to the center aisle to be escorted onto the stage by peacekeepers. 

“Nobume, how stunning of a name! Now then, for the gentlemen…” She walks over to the other bowl, Hijikata watching her hand dip into the spotless glass. He goes to swallow but the spit gets caught in the back of his throat as the piece of paper is drawn up and taken quickly to the microphone. 

He sweating terribly, hands trembling as he repeats over and over again Tamegoro’s words from last night in his mind like a sinner in prayer. Once more his eyes linger for Mitsuba, and once more he’s sorely let down when he can’t find her to take comfort in, if only a little bit. Hijikata forces his attention to the stage, watching the Escort inhale to say the name of the chosen. 

“And our final contender for district five is… Hijikata Toshiro!” 

-

_“Shimura Shinpachi!”_

Gintoki’s head recoils up as if he’d been struck, his body trying to catch up with what his mind was telling him to do. He can feel Katsura’s eyes fall on him from a couple rows ahead and there’s a breath that gets caught in Takasugi’s lungs as the next seconds of his life begin to flash through his head. He can hear the woman call for Shinpachi again but he’s not going to even allow Shinpachi to step out of the line, not in this life and not in the next. 

_“No!”_ He calls out, pushing the nameless faces beside him away, stumbling as he made his way through the crowd and to the clearing. _“No-!”_ He says again, the attention of everyone in the vicinity now caught on him. There are peacekeepers flooding him, grabbing onto his arms to prepare for a resistance that never comes. “I volunteer― I’ll take his place.” He states loudly to the Escort, Shouyo’s eyes cast down on him with a look he’d never seen before, his fears from last night’s talk confirmed. 

-

His heart drops, sinking into his chest. The men next to him and in front of him look over their shoulders, eyes peering into him as they gave away his location in the line. His hearing is overtaken by a ringing noise and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from or if it’s even real at all. He meets eyes with the Escort who only motions him kindly up with a smile. However he can’t move, his body frozen in its place by fear and shock. The peacekeepers are the ones to make him move, ordering him into the center aisle as they yanked on his arm. 

It’s only till he’s on stage that he finally finds Mitsuba. 

He wishes he hadn’t. 

He would have rather had his last memory of her one of her face drenched in moonlight instead of twisted and hurt with despair, tears falling just as gently as the river’s soft flow. 

“Now then, our contenders for district five everyone!” She steps away from in between him and the girl. “Please, shake hands!”

Hijikata’s body moves on its own, stuttering as he brought his sweaty hand up to shake the girl’s. “And as always, happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!” She waves to the crowd, peacekeepers swarming around him and the girl, ordering them into the Hall of Justice, doors closing immediately behind him. Hijikata is taken to his own room, the furnishings nice and bare, kept to a minimal. He sits hesitantly on the couch, the window blocked off from seeing outside. He doesn’t know how much time passes by alone in the room because his thoughts have something new to plague him with, more regrets to loom over. 

Eventually, the door does open, his brother stepping in as a peacekeeper calls out that they have three minutes to talk. 

-

“It’s gonna be okay,” He consoles, Otae crying into her sleeve. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going to win this thing I’m bringing Kyuubei back home with me, no matter what. You trust me, right? You trust Shouyo?” Gintoki asks softly, moving a piece of her hair away from her sweaty face as she slowly nods. “I’ll bring her home to you and everyone, I promise.” Katsura is there too, hand on her back. “We don’t have a lot of time to talk, but trust me when I say I’m bringing back money for the kids. We can get everyone a bigger house, more clothes, and food... It’ll all be government-funded too― so you know it will be good quality. No more boiling the water before soups to make sure it’s clean, you won’t have to worry about Shinpachi burning his hand again.” 

Otae only nods once more, her crying finally beginning to calm down. 

“Listen, you all need to keep a good eye on the kids, especially Kagura and Shinpachi. Tell them I’ll be back soon, I still owe Kagura that sukonbu and we still have to take Shinpachi on one of our storytime walks with the old people on the street. And I don’t care which one of you goes, every day when Catharine and Tama leave, Otose someone needs to be there with her.”

Katsura stands up, carefully helping Otae up with him. “There’s no option of you dying, Gintoki. You will come back.”

Gintoki hums in agreeance, turning back towards Otae and placing his hands on either one of her shoulders. “Don’t you _dare_ let Shinpachi feel guilty and tell him I said that. The last thing I want that kid doing is blaming himself for me, no matter what happens.” Gintoki pauses, Otae’s puffy eyes staring back into his own. “Take care of them, I’m serious.” There’s a knock on the door, signaling his time was up. “I’ll be back with you guys soon.” 

Shouyo opens the door, head motioning that they needed to leave. Katsura leads Otae out with a gentle hand to her back, eyes downcast to avoid bringing any suspicion that they knew one another. His master waves Gintoki to come and they walk out of the Hall of Justice to where the capital train sat waiting for them patiently. 

\- 

The rain is layered thick and heavy, gray film limiting one from seeing too far into the distance. The blur of swaying trees made the earth look like it was covered in fur, living, breathing fur come to swallow him whole. He only wishes that were the case. 

The train is spotless and the price tag on every good around him is overwhelming even to him, who was more than well-off in his community. Mahogany wood, fine blue velvet cushions, and crystalline glass accents made up the entirety of the cabin, one he was currently alone in. His partner had gone somewhere a while back, not that they had even spoken a word to each other yet, and hadn’t come back since. 

The train hadn’t left the station yet either, the low hum of the engine only felt if you put your finger on the window. He’d stayed in the main cabin area, the food lined up tall and numerous slowly making his stomach growl, much to his confusion. How could his body act in such a way after everything that had happened? It felt traitorous. 

Suddenly, the door opens behind him, making Hijikata jump out of his skin. 

“You’re gonna want to eat,” A man says nonchalantly, sitting down in front of Hijikata with a gentle smile. He immediately recognizes the man, his now mentor, with his dark hair slicked back at the top and his caramel skin glistening with wetness, most likely from the rain outside, if his blotched jacket was anything to go by. “That’s something you’ll want to do in the games, too, for starters.” 

“How did you-”

“Please, you were eyeing the pastries like you had something against them.” He laughed, holding out a hand for Hijikata to shake. “Kondo Isao.”

Hijikata accepts, throwing his name out with it. “Hijikata Toshiro.” 

“So that’s why you look familiar, I know your brother.” 

“Most people do.” 

“Indeed. Well, Toshi-kun, we’ll be leaving shortly. I was instructed to tell you that your room is down that hallway, second door to the right. They want you dressed in the capital’s clothes, considering we’ll be there in no time. There will be a bell when it’s time to eat, further down the opposite end of the train. Feel free to roam around where you please, I’ll be in the dining area mostly. We’ll begin talking over dinner about everything you’re dying to know, so just be patient and do your best to relax. Sound good?”

He nods hesitantly, head swarming with reality. Kondo gives him a farewell and another handshake before, once more, leaving him alone. Hijikata doesn’t know what else to do other than what he’d been told, so he finds his room, door opening on its own to reveal a very minimal bedroom, the outside window looking out into the wild outside district five. His room is just as luxurious as the living room with an expensive, soft linen lining the bed. On the table, there’s a jar of water, ice bobbing up and down with the trains subtle movements. He walks over to the closet, opening up its doors to see what clothes the stylists had picked out for him. There’s a couple of outfits, all the same color with different fittings and styles to them, and he chooses the one the most like his old clothes. It’s a shirt however in the back, the collar droops down to around the middle of his torso, held from falling off his shoulders by a single piece of thin cloth. The giant opening in the back made for the train’s air conditioning to be more harsh than practical, but since when had the Capital ever been practical? The pants are loose as well, airy and thin, closing around his waist and ankles to keep them held up. He climbs up on the bed, the silk of his clothing meeting the soft linen of the bed, luxurious and soft. Fit for a king. 

The rain is still beating down outside and with nothing better to do, he watches the droplets race each other down the window, thoughts melting and mixing in his head making a terrible concoction. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, the train eventually moving and then speeding towards their destination, with no light at the end of his tunnel.


	2. Smiling and Waving can get You Further in Life than One May Think or Want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gintoki is a natural at being charming when he wants to be and Hijikata really doesn't understand how the capitol works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June update. god, you all have no idea how long I've been working on this thing for.
> 
> and I still wrote things wrong. did I know that upon arrival in the capitol the tributes are immediately sent to go get ready for the entrance ceremony? no. did I find out? yes. did I fix it?  
also no. and apparently each tribute has a lead stylist but I'm literally using so many gintama characters that people forget exist already in the games that i can't do that so each district has one lead stylist. asdfghj. this shit is hard LMAO I'm really trying guys I promise
> 
> anyways, this got much longer than expected. enjoy akekeke.

The next time Hijikata opens his eyes it’s to the bell, though he’s hardly in the mood for any food. He doesn’t know how long he’d fallen asleep for, only that it was enough time for the sky to change to a dusty purple and orange through the window. 

Reluctantly, he glides off the bedding (thanks to the silk pants) and, once more, he’s not used to doors just _opening_ for him. There’s no one in the lounge, the only other place he’d been in inside the train, so he follows the way Kondo had told him earlier in their brief conversation. 

The next couple of cars are also empty, a billiard room and another lounge room, and it’s in the next car over that Kondo’s voice sounds through the door. It’s muffled, and when he sticks his ear close to see if he can hear something through it the door opens, which catches the attention of the entire cart. Kondo is there and so is Nobume and an avox, repouring Kondo whatever liquor he had in his glass previously. He’s given a small smile and an inviting wave toward the table, where the two were sitting. Nobume is picking at a donut, the icing layered with a speckle of gold leaf, unnecessarily extravagant. He sits down, feet immediately restless as they slide in and out of the capitol’s slippers. 

“Toshi! I was just talking to Nobume-san here about sponsors, though you might want to hear it too.” Kondo says, swirling his glass and clearing his throat. He motions for Hijikata to eat and though he has no want for it, he picks up a piece of bread and ladles himself a portion of the pork roast that is sitting in the center of the table. “They’re important. _Save-your-life_ type important, and it starts from the moment we get into the Capitol.” He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing them; “You both need to talk and smile more. That’s a specific way you get more people to like you just… in general. Smile wherever you go, be social, the people love that stuff!”

“I’m not exactly the most sociable person.” He states honestly, earning a frown from his mentor. 

“Well, you’ve got to be. Fake it until you get into the arena because it’s going to get you places. Medicine, food, weapons, utilities... sponsors can give you almost anything and when you’re freezing to death or dying of dehydration. I promise you will appreciate giving the right guy the right look.” Hijikata merely picks at his pork roast, fork getting bitten between his teeth with procrastination after every bite. 

Kondo watches him with a sigh, continuing on his earlier point. “There’s only so much the stylist and the interviews can do for you, the rest is all in your hands. Do well to get some food in your stomach― _good food,_ Nobume. I’ll return in a moment to continue the whole mentoring stuff but I need to let what I just said sit for a second, considering we will be in the Capitol gates in roughly...” He pauses, checking his watch, “thirty minutes. Eat up!” Kondo says with a smile and a thumbs-up, leaving Hijikata to his food and a thick silence. 

Nobume doesn’t speak this time, either. 

\- 

The night had already darkened by the time that Shouyo finally seeks him out, Gintoki watching the land as the train flew by from the giant window of the last car, lounging across the plush silken seating. He enters, Gintoki not needing to turn his head away from the view to know who it was, his footsteps were too soft and the gentleness of the way he sat down too familiar to be anyone else. 

His master, no, _mentor,_ sets a plate with various desserts down on the small side table, his hands folding back silently in his lap afterward. There’s not much to be said between them, they’ve known each other for so long that they already understand what the other is feeling. 

Even so, Shouyo is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. “I brought you sweets.” His voice is quiet, like if he spoke too loud then they would take Gintoki away sooner. “I know we don’t have them often back home, so try to enjoy them now.” 

The perm nods, replying back quickly that he will. They watch the land again, dark but enough to see with the lights on the train and the moon above. An allotment of time passes by that he isn’t paying enough attention to grasp, caught in between thinking about home and his near future to trying not to think at all, something he often caught himself doing before the games were even in the picture. This time though it’s different, because the shining smile of Shinpachi telling him good morning and the feeling of Kagura’s hair as he braided it every night hurts a little too much to simply push away like he usually does. Just as painful is the ghost of voices bickering in the back of his mind, Katsura and Takasugi, accompanied by the burnt smell of Otae’s food, the giggle of all the children at the Center as they played tag in the lush grass of the forest. He doesn’t want to admit that he feels anything but he knows that Shouyo is already steps ahead of his feelings, which is why he brought the sweets. 

“I know you’re thinking about them.” 

“And you’re not?” Gintoki retorts back, voice just as quiet as his mentor’s.

“I am.” He pauses, “I always do when this day comes, worried at how you big kids are going to manage the little ones for weeks at a time without me there. Worried that I’ll come back to the house burned down.” He jokes.

Gintoki snorts, “You’re not that old.” 

“Maybe not,” he smiles, “but it feels like it sometimes, doesn’t it?” 

“You’re wearing off on Katsura too much.” _Wearing off on all of us._

“You and Takasugi could learn something from him, maybe then you’d both stop getting in fights.” 

Gintoki smiles, an amused huff of air blown from his nose. He doesn’t know how to word this, sentences all falling short on his lips before he can even begin to say them. Eventually, he figures that there is no right way to word it, letting whatever happens to come out of his mouth be what it was. “Do you think…” He trails off, hoping that Shouyo would know what he was getting at. “I mean, you won the games once but that doesn’t mean that I―”

“―Won’t die?” Shouyo finishes, Gintoki turning around in his seat to finally face him, nodding. “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean that you _will_ die either. You’ve been trained from the same age as many of those career kids, except you had ability and experience even before you and I met. You know why you volunteered, right? It wasn’t just because of Shinpachi and how much you care about him. Katsura and Takasugi could have as easily spoken up as you did, however, you reacted first because, inwardly, you know that you have the mindset to get through deprivation and suffering much better than they do, because you lived with it for years.” 

Gintoki sighs, his head falling back to rest on the glass of the window. As usual, his mentor was more in touch with his own feelings than he was. 

Of course, it wasn’t like he didn’t trust Katsura and Takasugi, he just couldn’t bear to lose them if he had the option of taking their place. Katsura might be an airhead and Takasugi an enormous asshole, but they were still the friends that he grew up with, trained with, laughed with. He wouldn’t know what to do if he had to watch them brave something like the games, or worse, watch them die to it. 

Shouyo smiles thinly at him, reaching over to grab the plate of sweets and setting it in front of Gintoki. He lets the perm take one and look it over before speaking again. “I’m simply upset that my intuitions were right last night.” 

“Pfft, I'm just upset that the damn government hasn’t collapsed yet, if what you say about it is tru― _Ow!”_ Shouyo smacks him quickly upon the leg, smile threatening and sweet. Gintoki shrugs his shoulders, gobbling up the rest of the heavenly strawberry pastry. _“To hell with it,”_ he mumbles through 

“Come,” Shouyo says, standing up once Gintoki had finished the last piece of dessert. “The other tributes should be broadcasting soon. And wipe your mouth.” 

When they reach the lounge, Kyuubei is there, watching the broadcaster discuss the mentors for each of the districts. On the screen is a guy that Gintoki thinks looks more like a gorilla than a man, his final moments in the arena won by missing an ax throw and it ricocheting off of the wall, striking his opponent in the head. However, he momentarily feels bad for his previous comment, the hosts don’t seem to take too kindly to him, smiles a little too forced to be real. Or maybe it was because the mentor talked about before him was a career. Either way, Gintoki directs his attention to the sweets, refilling his plate before sitting down, Shouyo’s victory coming up quickly to be discussed. 

The district six mentor is nothing special, but he’s probably just a little biased because his heart races much too fast when they finally reach district seven. Shouyo had never been one to talk about what actually happened in the games, for good reason. Not many victors liked to discuss what went down with them personally, with the exception of egotistical careers. But here Shouyo was, seventeen and young, dressed in a long white robe held by woven vines braided into a belt, a crown of Hemlock around his long, tan hair. Gintoki is convinced the man hasn’t aged a day. He waves and smiles to the crowd, his partner grinning ear to ear beside him, seemingly overwhelmed at the amount of attention. 

Gintoki glances across Kyuubei to Shouyo who is ghostly quiet, watching the screen with a detached glare in his eyes like the teen he was looking at was someone else entirely. The hosts have high praise for him, panning over to Shouyo’s final battle in the arena. It’s pouring down rain, falling through the canopy’s leaves like shards of glass to the earth, wind fast and unrelenting. Shouyo and his opponent both lose the grip on their weapons, hands too slippery and weak with weeks of surviving off the bare minimum to hold on in the storm. 

His mentor slips, opponent pinning him to the ground, knife pulled out of god knows where, slicing into his mentor’s neck. Even though he was alive and breathing just an arms length away, Gintoki’s mouth can’t help but dry at the scene, eyes glued to the battle. It all happens so quickly, Shouyo’s movements to disarm his opponent. Then, before Gintoki can bat an eye, the man is slumped lifeless, bleeding out on the bed of the forest, throat slit nearly halfway through. 

_‘Remarkable’,_ one of the hosts describes it as, the other saying that _‘all of Panem felt the moment that Shouyo had won’,_ coming up from being the skinny kid with a score of six to winning the entire games with his perception and forward-thinking. 

If Kyuubei reacted to it at all he couldn’t tell, however, Gintoki, for one, was speechless. He watched the hovercraft pick up the dead kid, Shouyo’s previously long hair now bobbing around his shoulders. It had several inches cut off, which they showed later to be the result of a cocky opponent. He was covered in mud from head to toe, the rain having previously been stopped by the gamemakers once the final blow had been dealt. 

The three of them sit in silence for the rest of the mentors, until it was time to see the other tributes. Film of the reaping at district one begins to play and when selected, Shouyo introduces them. “Abuto and Kada, both skilled and lethal. Abuto is big so I wouldn’t want to be the one to deal with him, I’d let all the careers take care of themselves. District one, as far as the other careers go, is weaker this year. District two, however, has a kid named Kamui. He’s a successful martial artist and good at about anything he does. Strong, fast, with a lot of capitol support behind him and known to be extremely sadistic. His partner, Hotaru, is nothing to be laughed at but I have a feeling that she won’t be in the picture very long, Kada will probably hunt her down.” The camera zooms in on Kamui, face bearing a striking similarity to Kagura. However, as much as they might look like, it had to be impossible for them to be related. To get from district two to seven, you had to cross three, six, and eight with thousands of miles of land stretching in between. There was simply no way.

Shouyo continues, going over district three. He sees Kyuubei nod their head at his words, the first emotion that he’d seen from her since they got onto the train. They had known of each other for a while mutually through Otae, though never close enough to say something to each other outside of Otae’s presence. In fact, they hadn’t spoken at all the entire day, Kyuubei locked away in their cabin, Shouyo not bothering her until it was time to talk about the other tributes. 

“The kids from district four are the ones to watch out for, both of them are skilled and smart. Jirocho and Sarutobi, blunt and heavy hitters who strike fast. I hear Sarutobi is training to be a peacekeeper, but I’m not entirely sure if that’s true or not. Watch out for both of them, don’t fight them unless absolutely necessary.”

“Do you doubt our skills?” Kyuubei says offhandedly, the remark quick, like they knew better than to speak it.

Shouyo only smiles, eyes wrinkling slightly at the corners. “No, but as your mentor, I want to give you to best tactics to keep you not only alive in the games but alive _after_ the games too, which should be exactly what you want.” 

The screen changes, a quiet and solemn-faced girl respectfully walking up to the stage when called. “That’s Imai Nobume, a dark horse in this competition. I couldn’t find a lot on her but I do have a feeling she’s not something to frown upon just by the way she carries herself. Her partner, Hijikata Toshiro, is the brother of a respected figurehead in the community of district five. Based solely on his reaction, Nobume is the one to keep your eye out for between the two. I don’t think Hijikata will make it very far.” 

Gintoki watches the man get pulled up to the stage by the peacekeepers, stiff as stone, like they would pop his shoulders out of place from lifting his deadweight up the stairs. He’s crying, silently, hair sweaty and plastered down on his forehead. A rich kid’s demise, he thinks to himself. 

District six comes and goes, some bald-headed man and his partner, but he’s hardly listening. Shouyo doesn’t bother to comment on it either, hands covered in the opening of his haori sleeves. The announcer, a pompous man who laughs loud enough for his ears to ring with pitch finally simmers down, a coolness to his voice as he describes the “stoic-faced” contenders from district seven. 

“She’s quite collected, I’m sure not one to be messed with.” The other, stubbier commentator says.

“But I’m sure you saw…” The loud one enunciates through a whisper, the screen playing back Shinpachi’s shocked face, the crowd singling him out with slow, shuffled steps. Then, his own cry of desperation. “So brave, that one. Volunteering for that young boy, I just can’t wait to talk to him and find out just where all of this came from!” 

“I know, it’s quite rare you see a volunteer from the higher districts, surely there must be some sort of underlying relationship between them.” 

“Definitely not brothers, I mean look at the hair on th―”

He gets up, stomach turning at the look on Shinpachi’s face as the camera zoomed in on him, watching Gintoki pass by, wrangled in the grips of gloved hands. There are tears on his cheek he couldn’t see from the stage, the boy’s features drooping in an anguish Gintoki wishes he never had to see. It makes his skin crawl, and by this time he’s heard enough talking, heard enough praise from glossed lips to make him want to throw up his sweets then and there. 

He stands, Shouyo calling for him to which he doesn’t answer, grabbing a bottle of some fancy alcohol on the shelf. He can feel Kyuubei’s eyes following him as he leaves the room, an annoyed huff from his mentor’s lips the last thing sounding before the door closes behind him. 

-

Thirty minutes passes by like two, Kondo patting him up from his chair as the train slowed, the night sky view from the window replaced by a tunnel. Nobume stares out at the lights on the walls flashing by, wordless as ever.

The three had just finished going over the other tributes while they watched the reaping highlights, Hijikata’s face paling at the playback of his own reaping. He could see Mitsuba in the crowd the moment his name had been called, blocking out the two commentator’s voices as her head dropped to her hands in a silent sob. It made him absolutely sick. 

“Up, up.” Kondo motions with a hand for them to meet him by the long cabin window, the two tributes hesitantly following suit. “Wave, smile. It all starts here.” 

The closely arched walls of the tunnel suddenly let up, a roar of cheers erupting the moment they came into view. People of the capitol crowded together to get a look at them, hair of all different colors making a rainbow sea, bustling in between the hands waving and jumping in the air. The people already knew their names, he could hear them yelling them from beyond the silencing glass, piercing through the bubble that the train had become to Hijikata like a needle.

In the corner of his eye, Nobume’s hand slowly rises, a small motion in it hardly considered a wave. She still had the flat face with no trace of even a minute smile, her posture relaxed as she leaned against the window. Kondo catches his eyes while he was watching her, head lifting up in a telling beckon to join her. 

Reluctantly, he gets his hand up and waves, the crowd roaring, all grinning ear-to-ear. The train ebbs to a stop in front of what he can clearly see is a sanctioned off pathway leading out of the station, keeping the people from swarming them, something he’s immensely grateful for. Their mentor tells them to follow once more, two avox opening up the door to the train and stepping outside its walls, hands clasped in front of their waist mechanically, like they were programmed to do so. 

Kondo is first down the steps, with Nobume just a foot behind him, the camera flashes immediately blinding them the moment they were visible. Everything not flashing white becomes shrouded in black, the once colorful hair-dos just a silhouette of their former vibrance. He hears his name from every direction, Nobume’s too, hands reaching out to touch his arms over the barricades. 

_Smile,_ he needs to smile, the thought pulled from seemingly nowhere in his mind. Though his lips were already turned up from squinting through the lights, which had thankfully now died down some, he tries his best to put a little gleam of happiness in his face, to look somewhat like he wanted to be here. After all, as Kondo had said, small moments like these might just save his life in the end.

The yelling didn’t stop after they were outside of the station, the capitol's citizens roaring with their affection, just as they probably had for all the other tributes to arrive before them. It’s shallow love, something he must pretend is so much more than it really was if he wanted these people to keep him alive. 

The door to the car is opened for them, the three squeezing into the backseat of the vehicle that would surely take them to the designated living quarters. Once inside, a peacekeeper takes the front seat, hands not moving from the hold on his weapon. The roads had been cleared for them seemingly, not another car in sight other than the two flanking them, the security fit for the President himself. 

Still, citizens lined the sides of the streets, jumping up and down in glee, their howling now only a white noise in his ears. It was mind boggling; the amount of importance that the pre-stages of this death game had in the hearts of the capitol citizens was absolutely insane, something he couldn't wrap his head around in the slightest. Now, he knew first-hand how the capitol was able to keep the districts ruled so tightly― if the games were to ever disappear, there would be an upheaval. 

Around him, skyscrapers plunged upward seemingly into the night’s stars, the shine and luster of glass and steel making them all reflect the car’s shape as it passed by. Immaculate, that’s the only word he could use to describe the city, with art pieces sticking up from the ground, colored and bright against the city’s monotone palette. Much like its citizens, the art brought life into what would look too industrialized and orderly, balancing the ratio of capitol authority with the bustle and pleasure of its inhabitants. Even the trees and bushes were groomed to perfection, nothing could be out-of-place in a land so rich with wealth and Presidential image.

The car turns, drawing him away from his thoughts and to the image before him. The street opens up, five buildings standing up above the rest of the city, the central tower taller than all of them. _The new apartments and training center,_ Kondo tells them through a whisper and a point, Hijikata all-too-aware of how big his swallow was. Seeing it now in real time, in front of his very eyes and not on the big collapsable screens at every reaping is nothing short of surreal. This is happening, it’s not a dream, he’s going to be in the Hunger Games.

Hijikata wants to throw up at the thought.

And he almost does, coughing, bile coming up to which he quickly swallows down, not trying to embarrass himself before he even gets into the building. He plays it off well, sweat prickling up on the back of his neck with anxiety, Kondo only giving him a small glance. When he looks back out the window, the car is rounding to the frontage of the middle building, soon slowing to a stop. 

There’s people waiting for them outside, stoic-faced and dawned in plain suits, one of them stepping from his previous position to walk down to the car. Hijikata’s door is opened for him, Nobume and Kondo sliding out of the seat behind him; Kondo takes his place in front of Hijikata as the man who had opened the door escorts them into the building, only for another person to begin to escort them somewhere else. 

As impressive the outward architecture of the building was, the inner decor is just, if not more so, extravagant. It makes him shrink into his skin, the way there was not a speck of dust out of place. Above their heads, a glass chandelier at least ten times as large as the one in the train hangs glimmering in the lights surrounding it, casting speckles of brightness onto the glossy black marble floor. A large fireplace cracks and pops in the distance, flames eating up the wood inside of it. Even so, it's cold as ice inside, air conditioner drowning out what heat was produced by the fire, showing just how much money the capitol had to throw away on opulence and impressions. 

They’re led into an elevator, not a word shared between them since the car, the escort taking them up to their designated district room. The entire floor is theirs even though it wasn’t a penthouse, the modern and colorful decoration closely matching the public art pieces he’d seen lining the streets on the way from the station. The room is dawned in golds and yellows and oranges, colors often used in making the outfits of district five tributes. 

The dining table was raised in the center of the first floor, three golden and round lights hanging from the ceiling to just a few feet off the table. The lounge area was just to the right of the stairs on the other side of the room, couches facing the television that was in the corner, a large window replacing the wall next to it. Though they weren't that many floors up in the building, the city seemed to open up around them, partially cut off by the neighboring skyscraper.

There was an upstairs area as well that he couldn’t see, probably the bedrooms, Kondo thanking the man that had escorted them before closing the door behind them. “Here it is. Your home for the next five days. The stylists will be here soon so until then, make yourself acquainted with it.”

Their mentor takes a seat onto one of the long couches, turning on the television. The screen immediately clicks to life, showing the same two commentators from before talking about something Hijikata doesn’t have time to pick up on before their attention is caught by a train pulling into the station. 

Kondo motions them over from where they were standing to sit down, “Though, if you want to win, this is a good way to spend your time. Pay attention and watch how other tributes handle the same capitol delirium.”

An identical train to their own stops in front of the very place he had been just twenty five minutes earlier, two avox opening the door in protocol, the cameras blinding the scene in white flashes that made the tributes visible to the TV. It’s district seven, one of the commentators informs, their mentor exiting first with hands clasped behind his back knowingly, grace in his walk. The tributes, much like himself and Nobume, are right behind him― the girl holding up a hand in front of her face at all the light, the man so engulfed by brightness his hair looked like it was glowing on screen. He’s got a grin on his face though, and reaches out to touch hands as he walks. 

“Sakata Gintoki, what a charmer!” The loud commentator bellows, slapping a hand across the table. “So unique, that one!” 

“Indeed, indeed… he certainly leaves an imprint on you, that’s for sure. Most often, district seven tends to fall into the background of the careers and earlier districts. Not this year, it seems.” The calmer host remarks, smile excited, finger pointed down at wherever they were watching the train broadcast. 

The girl in front of Gintoki, though shy, is smiling too, her hands awkwardly down by her side, eyes glancing back and forth quickly at the people sandwiching them. Their mentor has yet to be seen without a smile, a host says, the other commenting on his signature gleam that he had apparently had since he was a contender in the games himself.

“They’re liked already.” Kondo states, drawing Hijikata’s attention away from the screen where it had previously been absorbed. “Of course, we don’t know what they said about us, but with Gintoki being a volunteer from a non-career district, he’s going to get a lot of attention. Which is nothing if he doesn’t know how to handle it, but that, of course, doesn’t seem to be the case.” His mentor sighs once, eyes glancing over to an avox that had entered the apartment, before speaking once more. “He looks strong, too. I’d put money on him not getting all that muscle from simply working in the forests.”

The tributes file into the car, the camera following them down the street until they were out-of-view.

-

“Here’s what I want to do for you...” their stylist says, a loud man with a loud laugh and hair just and permy and unruly as his own, “we bring back the hemlock. The dead branches. The dead leaves. It’s good symbolism and it worked well for Shouyo-sensei when he was in the games. Besides, I think dressing you two up like trees would be a disgusting disservice on my part.” 

The man, Sakamoto, has the table strewn with pictures laid out of new drawings and old photos of Shouyo when he was on his carriage. The two sketches he’s got beneath his heavily ringed fingers are the ones he favors, both dresses, a long, puffy white sleeved one for Kyuubei, a slick, drooping, one for himself. 

“They won’t see it coming and the best part is, everyone knows the staple look of Shouyo in the entrance ceremony― it will cause an uproar, which is _exactly_ what you want.” Gintoki meets the eyes poking out from the top of the tinted red sunglasses, the grin on the man's lips one that he knows he likes. His mentor is across the room in the kitchen, pouring tea, allowing the stylist to have his space. “Unfortunately, we can’t stop the president and the gamemakers from finding out about your connections to Shouyo, Kintoki.” 

“Gintoki.” He corrects.

“I don’t see that being a problem, mentors often train tributes for future games. It’s that little illegal orphanage that might be the issue.” Gintoki narrows his eyes, leaning back against the couch. Kyuubei exchanges him one glance before looking back to Sakamoto, who merely bellows a laugh in return. _“Ahaha!_ Kintoki, don’t worry, if questioned at the interviews, you got to make the story come alive. Yes, it’s illegal, it goes against the good President Shige Shige, but with Shouyo’s government fund, you two are saving innocent children’s _lives.”_ He draws out the word, held head high in dramatics while a hand is raised in the air. _“That,_ Kintoki, is why you have to win. The Capitol saves lives― sell that.”

Kyuubei stands with a grunt of frustration, grabbing ahold of Sakamoto’s collar, hauling his ass inches above the seat. “He has to win? What about me?” Kyuubei barks, “Where is my life in this?!”

The dark-haired perm just grins, his hands by his head in a sign of surrenderance. “You’re not the one breaking the law with a Capitol darling, Kyuubei-san.” Kyuubei drops him back onto the plush blue chair, fists clenched by her side. “Besides, I didn’t mean it like that. He has to sell that as _his_ need to win. All twenty-four of you will have one. What’s yours, might I ask?― or do I need to make you one too?”

“I… I have people I need to go home to,” Kyuubei says, the sentence trailing off to a whisper. “Someone I need to marry.”

“Marriage! Love! The people eat that up, Kyuubei-san! I know you’re not the most talkative person, but _please,_ for your own sake, make sure you mention that. Mention their name, too. The cameras will find them and get their reaction. You don’t know how much that can help!”

There’s a sharp slap across skin that Gintoki hears before he sees, red blooming on the side of their stylist’s face. “I’m not mentioning her name! If I die, they’ll just broadcast her pain across the entire fucking nation!”

“Or, don’t. Maybe that was insensitive of me...” Sakamoto says with a chuckle and claps his hands together, rings clicking. “Nevermind that, we’ll make it work. Tomorrow, we get you up at nine o’clock sharp, to prepare you for the Entrance Ceremony. Me and my assistants will have have the outfits made by then, you’ll try them on by eleven, and if any last changes need to be made that will give us enough time to be ready by three, when the chariots set off.” 

\- 

“What does… _‘get us ready’_ imply?” Hijikata says, their stylist, Itou Kamotarou, folding his hands in his lap with a huff.

“Waxing, plucking, moisturizing, things along those lines.” He says nonchalantly back, “That’s my assistant’s business, what they think you need to have done. I handle your outfits only, which, I assure you, will be the best out there. You’ll be gods among men. No one has ever taken district five’s power theme in this direction before.”

“I like the idea.” Kondo imputs, Itou sparing him a quick glance that he knew meant _‘of course, it’s mine’_. Itou was cocky but he knew what he was doing and Hijikata couldn’t fault him for that when it, quite literally, was his life on the line. “I think out of the ordinary is a good thing for these two. The outfits give a different play at the district's specialization.”

“There will be gold, lots of it. You will be the center of attention, I promise.” He says with a close of his leather folder, standing. “As I said, my assistants will be back tomorrow morning at nine. Do try to get some sleep, bags are hard to cover up with makeup.” 

Hijikata can’t help but roll his eyes, Itou already making his way out of the door. There’s a long silence between the three of them from the time that the stylist leaves, Hijikata’s tongue clicking when he was sure Itou was far gone. _“He’s_ the third-best the Capitol has?” 

Kondo merely laughs, “He’s ambitious. Although he can be hard to get along with, he does good work, as you saw.”

_“Tch._ Will the capitol really go that crazy for a Greek mythology call back? I thought the only things the capitol cared about was their own culture.” 

“Trust him, Toshi.” Kondo says, the chef that had been cooking dinner for them setting it down on the table. “Come, eat. Tonight we’re going to go over everything you need to know for the next few days. We’ll go over those tributes again, too.”

The food set before them is enough to make Hijikata throw up from overeating. Nobume, of course, was silent as ever, stuffing the variety of sweets and meats down at a lightning speed. Kondo talks all through the dinner and an hour past it, the TV playing reruns of the train arrivals in the background. Before Hijikata knows it, his feet are carrying him up the stairs and to his designated bedroom, flopping face-first into the soft grey cushions of the bed. 

Of course, sleep never comes as easy as he wants it to.

-

The next morning, as promised, he’s woken up just before the ninth hour and taken down a few floors to where he was apparently going to get _“prepared”_ for the entrance ceremony, something Hijikata still didn’t have the slightest clue what exactly that entailed. 

He finds out soon enough, told to get naked and in the steaming bath, two men working their way across his body with all sorts of different soaps and products, _“opening up his pores”,_ one had replied when he had asked. After the adventure of having strangers bathe him, next is the adventure of having strangers de-hair him, which is unsurprisingly worse than the first. One of the assistants, the one with bright, beaming purple hair, lathers a thick layer of warm wax which is pretty soothing until it feels like he’s ripped off a layer of skin with it. The other man, one with sunlight orange hair, is working at his eyebrows, alternating his plunking with the tears of wax so he wouldn’t poke Hijikata’s eyes out, he assumed. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay doing things to him, trimming his hair, powdering his face, rubbing in all types of lotions and creams. It takes fucking forever, that’s the only thing he knows, and he’s about sick of all of it by the time they bring out this suspicious, long, cylindrical vase, the assistant with the orange hair dipping his hand into the neck of the container, his finger coming out dripping with gold. There’s a smile faint across the lips of the man, something Hijikata could only assume was the pride in seeing his work finally come to light. The golden liquid drips tiny drops onto the glossed floor between them as the man reaches to rub it across his chest, spreading it until it was just a thin, shimmering layer atop his skin. 

The liquid dries quickly as they get it on him, eventually covering the entirety of his torso, lightly fading away into his neck. The assistants swiftly leave once they’re done, Hijikata standing awkwardly in the middle of the room alone with just a tight pair of white briefs on to keep him clothed. Now knowing what else to do, he remains standing there until they return, seemingly with his outfit in tow. 

The two men give him a grateful nod when they see he hasn’t somehow ruined their work, motioning for him to come meet them by the table. He’s explained the intricacies of the outfit as he dresses in the things he can figure out how to put on. The gold plated waistband is first, a white wool cloth under it reminiscent of the ancient greeks. Even with just the waist part of the outfit secured, he can feel the weight of the metal around his hips, weighing on him. The gold is intricate, symbols of lightning to supposedly represent power engraved all across the design. 

The greaves come next, shiny gold as well, a tight fit around the muscle of his calves. They too, at the top, just right below his knee, are carrying lightning. The sandals come next, of course with a gold plate across the top of them as well, then the golden bracers that pinch his skin when they’re fitted on his arms. 

“Natural, elegant, and powerful… all at once.” A familiar voice calls out, the door closing behind Itou as he walks in, a proud smirk on his face. He’s got a ring of gold in his hand, stopping just before Hijikata and placing the crown around his head, centering it. The assistants run to grab wipes to get rid of the fingerprints left on the metal, everything having to be immaculate. “You look good. I promised that I would make you turn heads, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He replies simply, not used to this kinder and less snobby persona of his stylist.

“Nobume is almost done as well. It’s getting near when we need to get you down there and acquainted with the feeling of being on a chariot. But first,” he glances over to the two men, motioning towards Hijikata’s legs. “More. It looks uneven with his torso.” Immediately, they run to grab the vase.

“Is this… all real?” 

“What, the gold? Of course it is. I’ve been planning your outfits for months in advance of the reapings, that’s why I specifically requested district five. Though you’re not a career, I’m going to make you shine like one.” Itou pats his back once, watching his assistants lather more of the glimmering liquid on his legs, taking extra care not the stain the white wool cloth. “Do me a favor and win the games, Hijikata-san. I make you look good, get sponsors, and in return, I get everyone in the capitol wearing my clothes. Win-win.” 

Hijikata can’t help but laugh. “Of course, I will keep that in mind when I’m about to die.”

His stylist grins at the remark, running a finger down the side of his leg to make sure it was dry. “Alright, we have twenty minutes until the chariots set off. I’ll be right behind you, go to the first floor but instead of going back into the lobby, take a right.”

Hijikata nods and does as he told, finding the elevator and clicking the fancy down arrow. The machine dings in reply, the numbers at the top rapidly decreasing, slowing as it neared his floor. All too soon, the elevator opens before him, Hijikata stepping inside only to realize he’s not alone. 

Across from him and leaning against the railing with what can only be called a shit-eating grin is the male tribute from seven. Gintoki, Hijikata recalls, only because of that mop of hair is gleaming underneath the artificial lighting of the small elevator. 

“Not gonna say hi?” The man says, deadpanning him.

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

“Why do I have to say hi to you?”

“Hijikata-kun, I don’t know if you know this or not, but in just a few more days we’re gonna be out to kill each other. Being nice right now might just save your life, you know.” Hijikata only clicks his tongue in reply, knowing good and well Gintoki was right. He did need to be more friendly, did need to smile more. “You look good.” Comes the perm’s next remark, quick, less joking than the last few exchanges. 

With a sigh, he replies, throwing his callousness to the wind. “It’s heavy as fuck.” Hijikata says, meeting the red eyes of the other man. “My balls hurt too, haven’t recovered yet from the wax.” 

The statement makes Gintoki actually laugh, genuinely, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement under the smudge of dark green eyeshadow. “Same, that shit was brutal. At least my costume is all flowy, a little airflow helps everything, right?” He grins, holding out his hands so Hijikata could see the expanse of silk, shimmying in the fabric. 

Gintoki looks good too, he thinks, the district seven outfit broadly different from his own. Gintoki is wearing a dress that's more androgynous than it is feminine, the neckline coming all the way down to the center of his chest, showing off the expanse of honed, pale skin. Beneath where the “V” of the collar ends, a belt secures the cloth, made entirely out of woven, interlaced branches. The dress is cut in the front, twice, for both of his legs to be shown off when he walked, Hijikata assumed. The sandals Gintoki is wearing spiral and climb up his leg, woven just like his belt before stopping beneath his knees, much like Hijikata’s own greaves. His crown, too, has the branches, but differ from the rest with little white flowers that can only be identified as hemlock protruding out in small bunches, as if they had just been picked moments prior and stuffed into the braid. 

Just then, the elevator slows and dings, signaling they had made it to their desired floor. 

“Do you know where to go, Hijikata-kun?” Gintoki sings out behind him, following. “Sakamoto would kill me if I got lost and was late~”

“More or less,” is the answer he gets in return, Hijikata merely following the orders of his own stylist. Eventually, the hallway opens up, a tinted glass door off just to their left that, though barely, Hijikata could make out the movements of people bustling around behind it. 

Upon pushing the door open, a breeze immediately hits his face, along with the low talking of tributes, mentors, and stylists alike all getting their finishing touches and talks in before the chariots set off for the entrance ceremony. Above their heads, a clock climbs down, just passing the five-minute mark. 

His name is called out once loudly, Hijikata immediately able to find Kondo, who was waving at him from where the fifth pair of horses stood. Nobume was next to him, her two assistants touching up her eyeshadow and fixing her hair, golden and white dress pooling by her feet. 

A hand touches his shoulder once in a reassuring pat, Gintoki sliding by him to practically prance down the few stairs, telling him to _smile wide for the people._ He’s gone just like that, a man with a head of perm just as his crazy as Gintoki’s own yelling at him to stop running, waving his hands in desperation as Gintoki continued to jog over to his district carriage. 

“Wave, hold hands, look unified, this is very, _very_ important-! Toshi, here, your bracelet.” Kondo says, handing him a round, plain, thick hoop, Hijikata glancing down to see that Nobume had the same exact one around her wrist. “Itou designed them, of course. There’s a sensor in them that if you bang it down hard enough, your crown will light up, or something like that.”

“Do it at the halfway mark of the civilian stands,” Itou says, coming up behind him. “It’s just a little extra flair that I think will be nice to have. It’s good to get attention in things like this. Alright now, up.”

They’re motioned to get onto the chariot, one of the horses kicking his back hoof at the movement. An avox is right beside the animal in a second, feeding it a sugar cube, which it happily nibbles up. Nobume steps up beside him with a hum, her golden eyeshadow sparkling under the light. 

Itou and Kondo take turns telling them what they need to do and before he knows it, the clock hits the minute mark, a subtle beeping pulse of every second after as it counted down. Hijikata’s heart is racing a thousand miles a minute, unable to keep his foot from bouncing in the curve of the carriage’s bed. Nobume gives him one reassuring glance, her hand tightening around the metal railing, their bracelets gleaming right next to each other in unity. 

The counter hits five seconds before he can blink, Hijikata peeking over his shoulder to see Gintoki nodding his head at his mentor, who has his hands behind his back as he instructs. The perm must have felt the eyes on him, Gintoki’s gaze momentarily taken away from his conversation to connect his glare with Hijikata’s. The man grins at him, just enough for his mentor to tell him to focus back to what they were talking about with a wave of his hand. 

Then, all at once, the countdown ends with a silent zero, the horses jutting them into movement. 

They’re turned in order from the first district to the last, his heart sinking into his chest. The light from outside the tunnel is blinding, but nothing could have prepared him for the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish y'all could see my 74 slide powerpoint I have for this story, it's unreal. I'm falling in love with this story and it's only chapter two. honestly, I can't wait to get into writing the good stuff (which truthfully starts next chapter). have a great day, as always. <3
> 
> tumblr: @gintokiu  
twitter: @gintokiuu


	3. Wet Your Feet Before Jumping Head-First into Freezing Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijikata comes to terms with some things and Gintoki is characteristically charismatic when he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this for a while, and, ever so slowly, we inch to the beginning. 
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe, enjoy. <3

He hears the moment the district one chariot comes out of the tunnel, the first boom of drums meeting on beat with the Capitol’s national anthem. It’s all overwhelmingly loud, and somehow still the crowd’s cries drown out the music. 

The chariot beneath their feet rocks with the trotting of the horses drawing it, and, finally out of the tunnel, blood-red rose petals swarm, picked up from the ground by the wind of the passing by tributes. The sun is beating down on them and with one quick glance down to his arm he can see what Itou was talking about when he said he wanted to make them look like _“gods”._ The shimmering is more than just a slight reflect, the gold is blinding, so bright that there almost was no gleam of speckles but just a solid shine of light radiating off their skin. 

Nobume’s dress whips around behind her, hanging off the back of the chariot, every now and then hitting the exposed part of the back of his ankle. It’s soft, expensive― he’s sure, the thin mesh gold of her cape flapping softly as it caught the wind. 

The hoop is bound tightly around his wrist, the metal cold on his skin. In front of them, the careers from four wave their hands happily, soaking up the energy of the event like a sponge to water. Oppositely, he has to tell himself to smile once more, only reminded by the small upturn of Nobume’s lips in her attempt to seem welcoming to the people. 

Too soon, the drummers in all black are passed by, the stands beginning, holding more people in one place than Hijikata had ever seen in his life. Packed together, row upon row, are thousands of screaming, cheering citizens, throwing all manner of items down upon the ground. Flowers mostly, single stems to full bouquets of different, varying colors littering the stone, one arrangement never the same as the next. Hats are tossed down too, hitting the ground with a bounce before settling in with the bed of blossoms. 

The citizens are waving, jumping, handkerchiefs flowing back and forth in the wind with excitement. He hears his name in a couple places, called out from the front rows, surely, because there was no way that sound would be able to travel from anywhere else. It’s overwhelming, overpowering, and, strangely enough, _exhilarating._ His heart is pounding in his chest so hard he thinks it might just burst out, but in the sheer energy surrounding the moment he can't help but to grin a little wider, clench his fist a little tighter.

His focus has been on the middle of the stands like a hawk, and he knows Nobume has been too because when they’re about to reach the mark she eyes him from the side, Hijikata turning his head to count down, _three, two, one._

Simultaneously, they bang down the bracelet against the rail of the chariot, a light flaring up from the center of his forehead where the crown rested. Against all odds, the crowd raves even louder at the stunt, Hijikata previously not thinking it possible. Thousands of eyes are upon him, burning the warmth of their hysteria into him, on him, engulfing his own senses. It’s a feeling unlike anything he’s ever experienced and before he knows it, it’s gone just as quickly as it came. The horse carries them past the stands, Hijikata releasing a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding as the smile falls back off his lips, the chariots forming before the President in two long arches. 

As the animal comes to a stop, the light dims on his crown, there, but not near as bright as it was before. Shige Shige steps up onto the golden platform, his face as flat as it usually was, his gray-gloved hands clasp loosely behind his back. One hand comes up to quiet the crowd, the voices tapering down almost immediately, either from obedience or respect, Hijikata wasn’t sure.

“Welcome,” comes the first word, his voice echoing through the air, “tributes.” Comes the next, the citizens in the back now entirely silent. “We, the people of the Capitol and myself, welcome you. You’ve already shown an ample amount of courage and strength beyond my wildest imagination, and you’ve just gotten started.” 

Hijikata’s eyes roam around while Shige Shige talks, looking for the mess of white perm in the chariots. He finds Gintoki over Nobume’s shoulder, all the way on the other side, his eyes upcast to the place where he was watching the President speak. He’s got a look in his face that Hijikata can’t decipher, like he was looking through the man and not at him, a knowing furrow in his brows. Nobume meets his stare with her own, motioning her head back in the direction to where the President was speaking, a subtle way to tell him to pay attention. 

“We wish you all a happy Hunger Games, and as always, may the odds be ever in your favor.” The crowd cheers now, Shige Shige bowing once, the same hand that he used to quiet the people now curved in a practiced wave. The chariot jerks them into motion, the first six districts circling around the second six to exit, Gintoki’s eyes meeting his own as Hijikata passes by him, his mouth nowhere near his characteristic smirk. 

-

“Ahh! You two did so well! The smiles, Hijikata, _Nobume!_ Thank you both for listening, finally! Finally!” Kondo says much too fast with excitement, holding a hand up for Nobume in support as she lifted up her dress to get down off the chariot bed. Hijikata is right after her, the horse immediately taken away by an avox as soon as he was on the ground. 

“You did do well.” Itou says, “I think the crowd liked the touch of the crowns as well.”

“Not just the crowns.” Hijikata inputs, “My eyes still hurt from the gold shining in them.”

There’s a soft chuckle from the stylist as he tucks a blown strand of Hijikata’s hair back into its place. “You’re right about that. Come, let's get this off of you.”

-

It’s a few hours later by the time Hijikata gets done bathing off all the liquid gold, his skin still shimmering with little speckles leftover from the water. Itou had told him it was completely harmless but he’s really not trying to walk into the training room tomorrow looking like one of the gold-dusted donuts Nobume was eating on the train. He’ll take another bath tonight, if he has to, in order to prevent that from happening.

This time, the elevator ride to his floor is not shared with anyone, Hijikata watching the numbers fly up until the doors eventually open to let him out. Nobume is eating at the table, Kondo talking with Itou already about the ideas he has for the interview outfits. 

They both turn their heads to Hijikata entering, Kondo motioning him towards the food prepared on the table, not ever breaking the flow of their conversation. Hijikata takes the opposite seat from her, cutting off a few slices of the honey roasted ham on the table, something that Tamegoro would cook for the house every Christmas day. He grabs a still steaming potato with it and some of the various leafy vegetables, throwing them on the plate as well. His stomach rumbles as he sits back down to eat, the mayo bottle grabbed from the metal stand where it had rested previously and brought to the end of the table with him. 

Dousing a glorious amount of the condiment across his plate, his mind can’t help but wonder back on his home. How was his brother doing? Was he holed up in the house or trying to do business as normal? Before the reaping, he’d never seen his brother cry, never seen Tamegoro show any manner of sadness on his face aside from the rare disappointed pout his lips made when Hijikata had done something stupid when he was younger. It was more than a shock to have his usually emotionally-controlled brother clutching onto his sleeves, head buried into his chest, apologizing over and over like it was his fault while he gently cried. That, of course, was never even close to being true in the beginning. Tamegoro had gone out of his way to ensure that Hijikata had the best odds, making enough money through his business that Hijikata’s name wouldn’t have to be in the bowl any more times than what his age required. If anything, it was his own fault his luck was so bad. 

And Mitsuba― how was she? Probably worrying herself half to death about him, glued to the window to watch the screens outside her house, waiting for anything that showed him in it. Sougo probably reminds her that she has to eat, that she has to move around or her condition will start acting up again if she doesn’t take care of herself properly. He can’t imagine what she’ll do once the actual games come. 

Pfft, how pathetic. Here he was, worrying a woman who has her whole life ahead of her. A marriage, for sure, maybe children after. She has her brother to see to and love. She has a life, something Hijikata can’t say he has waiting for him. 

He feels pathetic, really. Selfish to the core. 

His sentence is already laid out for him, now it’s just a matter of which of the twenty-three other tributes will be the one to sign him off, sending him up into the skies with the metal clasp beneath his back. Maybe it won’t be the tributes at all, maybe it will be the gamemakers, or the animals they conjure up, or the arena’s climate they design. 

He bites into the cut of ham, the flavor mockingly reminiscent of home.

He no longer has an appetite but he swallows down the rest of his food nonetheless, Kondo talking to them about how the training sessions will go for the next three days, his voice cutting in and out of Hijikata’s ears. He excuses himself when he’s done, his mentor telling him to get lots of rest to be ready for tomorrow, _where the real battle begins,_ or something. Hijikata waves over his shoulder as he ascends the steps, the door to his room closing lightly behind him. 

\- 

“In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead.” The overseer’s voice calls out from the head of the room, the tension stifling and thick around them. “One of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention in the next three days.”

Behind her, weapon upon weapon gleams under the cold lighting, racks of blades in all different shapes and sizes. There are blunt edges and swords so sharp they could probably cut you just by looking at them. Equally distracting as the weapons, Hijikata’s puffy, thick tactical pants feel awkward tucked into the brim of his tight shoes, coming up several inches above his ankle. Not to mention the belt, which he’d accidentally made much too tight out of sheer anxiety and lack of sleep.

The woman smiles once as she goes over the rules of the training room, the first being ‘no fighting’, a coy remark following quickly behind it. She explains the mandatory exercises that the gamemakers have required all tributes to go through before the games, then advises them not to disregard the survival stations. 

“Everyone is eager to grab a blade, but most of you will die from natural causes. Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife. Take mind to this as you prepare.” She pauses, turning to motion towards the experts lined up at their respective stations. “The trainers are here for assistance and technique building. Use them if you would like, or don’t if you wouldn’t. Ask if you would like a sparring partner. That’s all for now, you’re excused to work until I call for the mandatory exercises.”

Of course, the careers are the first ones to leave where all the tributes were huddled, immediately ignoring the overseer’s advice and heading straight for the variety of weapon handling stations, laughing amongst themselves. 

“The career alliance sure is starting early..” He hears Gintoki say somewhere over his shoulder, a scoff as he seemingly turns to leave. His partner says something lowly in reply but Hijikata’s too far away to hear it, his attention caught by Nobume’s eyes baring into him. Then, she’s walking away, leaving Hijikata standing with the rest of the indecisive tributes. 

-

It’s only after lunch that Hijikata gets the courage to try a hand-to-hand weapon station. 

He’d spent the majority of the time after the required exercises learning how to identify the difference in edible, herbal, and poisonous plants, along with how to get water and start a fire to clean it. There was also a snare or two in there, but he wasn’t super confident he’d be able to replicate them when the time came like the other things he’d been focused on.

Now was his biggest hurdle to face. Best case scenario, he conjures up the skills of a master swordsman from the weapon lessons his brother taught him years ago. Worst case scenario, he makes a fool out of himself and everyone in the building thinks he’s already dead meat. He hopes it’s not the ladder. 

Careers still flock around the weapon stations like sharks in bloody water, and everyone knows they’re already hunting. The girl from four with the lavender hair is throwing knives at golden holograms like they were the first things given to her when she was a baby, the figures breaking apart as the knife flew beyond, eventually lodging itself into the paneling on the wall. Likewise, the man from district one is sparring barehanded with a trainer in the center of the room, overpowering the padded up expert with his sheer force alone. Meanwhile, the kid from two is eyeing him with a grin that Hijikata can’t tell is more murderous or admiring. 

Unused in the opposite side of the room is the spear section, the trainer idly watching the girl throw knives until Hijikata appears in the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. He asks Hijikata if he’d like any help or tips, Hijikata nodding once in return, the bald-headed man picking up a long, thin spear from the rack and showing him the basics of the proper stance to throw. In a demonstration, the man, whose name Hijikata learns is Ghalen, lets a spear fly, the metal rod sinking almost perfectly in the center of the target on the unmoving figure’s chest. 

It’s impressive and beyond anything Hijikata thinks he can master in just a few days, but even still, he follows the instructions given to him by Ghalen, going through the throw without the weapon until his trainer thought him ready to give one a go. The weight is heavy in his palm, cold and foreign. 

Raising the spear above his head, he experimentally rotates it, once, twice, drawing the rod back behind his shoulder, careful to do everything his trainer had taught him. 

“Don’t overthink it. It’s a simple weapon.” Ghalen states, and before he has time to psyche himself out he takes one step forward and lets the weight fly from his fingers with as much force as he could muster. It glides through the air quickly and silently, sinking into the chest of the figure not very far away from where his trainer’s attempt was. 

In surprise, he turns to Ghalen, the man looking at where the weapon had landed with a startled raise of his eyebrows, his crossed arms undoing to wordlessly grab Hijikata another silver spear. 

“Again.” He states, Hijikata nodding his head and bringing back the weapon. Once more, he steps and throws, his opposite elbow coming back behind him to follow the motion through. Once more, the spear sinks into the foamy surface, this time in the belly of the figure, along the third inner circle of the target. Ghalen inhales once, nodding, handing Hijikata another from the rack. Once more, the spear sinks into the belly.

It’s quiet, much quieter than it should be when he’s handed his next weapon and when Hijikata looks back, almost all the tributes on this side of the room have stopped and are watching him, their eyes burning into his back as he turns back around to throw. The pressure is beyond burying, the spear already slickening in the palm of his hand as the realization dawns more on him. With a shaky breath, Hijikata brings the weapon above his shoulder like all the other times, positions himself, steps, and throws. 

Except this time the spear doesn’t magically lodge into a vital of the figure on the other side of the range, gliding off to the side to miss the padding entirely, the metal weapon colliding loudly with the thick metal wall beside it. It is stopped in its place almost immediately, the clanking of the rod bouncing against the glossy cement floor digging a pit to the very bottom of his stomach in embarrassment, threatening to throw up the lunch he’d just ate. To top it all off, the careers laugh loudly behind him, the scraping of their own weapons being picked up once more as they went back to what they had previously been doing. When he finally gets the guts to look behind him, the guys from ten and six avert their eyes back down to their snares, hidden behind some grass. 

Ghalen doesn’t know what to say before Hijikata is asking for the next, a newly bubbled up rage replacing most of the embarrassment from missing beforehand. With the press of his lips together in stifled fury, the forth spear flies through the air with a low whirl, the weapon sinking into the foam through the middle of the figure’s neck. 

With a pleased huff, he looks to his trainer, thanks him, turning to leave when he’s stopped by the last pair of eyes that had stayed to watch his final throw. Gintoki is leaning against one of the weight racks, an impressed grin on his lips as his nods his head in approval. Then, he kicks his weight forward, his index finger thrown up as if to say _“hold on”,_ the perm turning to walk towards the same range that the girl with lavender hair was throwing at earlier. 

The trainer at the station meets him with a smile, Gintoki exchanging some words with him and pointing at one of the racks off to the side. Hijikata doesn’t catch which one, but he does catch the confused and troubled look that the trainer gives him in return, opening his mouth to protest whatever Gintoki had proposed. Then, Gintoki walks away towards where he had pointed, Hijikata’s eyes following him the entire way, the perm holding three small-sized axes in one hand, two in the other. 

Stepping into the simulated range, he drops one of the two axes in his right hand, catching the crook of the weapon's beard with his foot before setting it down on the ground. The hologram pad rises up from the floor, Gintoki clicking at it three times before the lights dimmed in the range. 

Intrigued, Hijikata steps forward to get a closer look, the force field barrier between Gintoki and the rest of the room sparkling lightly in a bee-hive pattern. Line after intersecting line points downward from the two levels of the range, moving in small circles back and forth. Almost impatiently, the lone axe in Gintoki’s grip bobs up and down, ready, waiting for an appearance. 

The perm hears the footsteps coming before he sees the figure made, a golden, shiny sword-bearing attacker sprinting towards him, weapon raised above its head, poised to strike. Calmly, he steels himself, axe meeting with the hologram’s side before the thing could strike down upon him, crumbling into blocky pieces. Another figure is soon to follow, from the opposite side as the first, running on the top ledge with a trident. Gintoki adjusts his grip on the weapon once, the axe quickly whirling as it cut through the air, colliding with the chest of the golden attacker. 

One by one, the simulated figures dissipate, Gintoki cutting down the ones he could reach with a practiced familiarity rivaled only by the experience of his throws. If he had to let an axe go, then one of the ones held stuffed between his fingers would replace it in a second. It’s a process so swift and cleanly executed that it seals one’s attention as they try to comprehend it. Hypnotizing, to an extent, Hijikata doesn’t even realize that his mouth is slightly agape until the girl from four is squealing next to him, making him jump almost out of his skin. 

_“Kyah!_ I knew he was handsome but he can fight too?!” She says, hands on her flushed cheeks. She’s not the only one that had decided to stop and watch, either. The careers have once more been distracted from their work, swords down by their hips as they walked over to size Gintoki up, a crowd forming by the force field where Hijikata had previously stood alone. 

Gintoki’s partner is there too, standing next to the girl from four, along with the three male careers that had laughed at him earlier. Nobume, however, walks right by the commotion with only one quick glance over at Hijikata before she’s heading to whatever station she wanted next. 

The last axe from the four Gintoki had originally carried whips through the air and through the back of the running figure, the perm meeting the final attacker after that with the axe he had dropped on the ground. The golden man leaps from off the top level, spear thrown down, Gintoki dodging its path before slicing the man's stomach through before his feet ever touch the ground. 

Cubes disappear beside his feet, the perm standing up and slinging the weapon over his shoulder, a surprised tilt of his head as he sees the viewers he’d amassed. With a grin, he curtseyed, meeting Hijikata’s eyes from the bow with a wink. 

“Ah! Ah! Was that for me?! Was Gin-san’s wink for me?!” The girl from four ecstatically beams, shaking Gintoki’s partner as she jumped up and down. “I love you too Gin-san, talk to me tomorrow during lunch, okay?! I’ll kill anyone for you_-uu~!”_ The man from four with the black shaggy hair and light stubble takes her by her wrist, dragging her along and back to the stations they were at previously, the rest of the crowd dispersing with them. 

Gintoki walks out and the trainer is already beginning to spout on about how _‘that exercise was not practical for the games, that five axes are way too much for a tribute to carry and wield efficiently, even if it was gloriously flashy and very impressive!’._

“Don’t get your panties in a knot.” Gintoki chides back to the man monotonically, “It’s covered.” Twirling the axe on his shoulder, the perm turns to address Hijikata, the trainer behind him astounded that he’d just been ignored, walking away with an angered huff blown quickly from his nose. “I got the attention today, so don’t worry about earlier’s little mishap.” He pauses, nodding his head over towards the spear throwing station. “You’re a good shot. Where’d you learn?” 

“I- I just really learned back there, but my brother used to teach me how to wield a few things... back in the day, that is― a couple of years ago. Just in case, you know?” 

“Well,” the axe falls by his hip, “a natural proficiency, then.”

“What about you..? Where'd you learn to do… _that?”_

“I’m from seven, almost every man is in the forests cutting trees.”

“You did not learn all of that from simply cutting trees.”

Gintoki laughs once, quickly, the curls of the tuffs of perm gently bouncing with it. He smiles, leaning in slightly closer to Hijikata and whispering, “That’s a secret for another day.” And before the conversation can settle into an awkward quiet, Gintoki speaks again. “You held onto it too long.”

“Huh?”

“The spear. The one you missed, I mean. You held onto it too long.”

“Oh… I― Thank you. I don’t even know if I’ll be using it, you know… when the time comes.”

“Why do you say that?” Gintoki asks, racking his weapon on the top of the nearest holder before turning and motioning over his shoulder for Hijikata to follow. 

_Where to even begin... he obviously doesn’t get it,_ Hijikata thinks to himself with a low huff, “I might never get the chance to.”

“Why? ‘Cus you think you’ll die?” The perm deadpans, Hijikata wishing that he would have not said that so loudly. 

“Do you not?” He scoffs back, looking around to see if someone had heard. “And I didn’t exactly mean I wouldn’t get to use it because I’d die quick or anything like that! Sometimes weapons get held by careers for the entirety of the games, sometimes it just _doesn’t work out.”_ Hijikata accidentally emphasizes the last few words with a little too much stress, Gintoki plopping down into the dirt at one of the fire stations. 

“Listen here, Hijikata-kun.” The perm says, picking up the straight stick and going to work, his voice faltering as he spoke and tried to light the fire. “Careers? They all lack substance. Sure, they can handle a blade like it’s their mom’s tit but a lot of ‘em are so full of themselves that if you manage to get just one surprise on them, they’ll short circuit.”

“They’ll short circuit for a moment, sure, but you’ll be dead in the next if you aren’t fast enough.” 

“That’s the point.” He chuckles, and from the wood a puffy white smoke begins to fester where the friction was being applied. “Everyone here is lethal, that scrawny kid from ten, Yamazaki or whatever his name is, you, me. It’s not _just_ Kamui or Abuto or Sarutobi or any of the other three careers. It’s hesitation that kills more than skills, so… do you think you could do it?” Gintoki says, meeting Hijikata’s eyes and handing him the stick.

“Do I think I could take a life?” He repeats, for clarification, taking the offering from the other’s hand. The perm merely stares back at him, wordless, Hijikata taking that as a yes to his question. “I… I think I could―” 

“Envision it next time, then.” Gintoki’s head motions over to the spear station. “A man at the end of the range, not a foam target― because that’s what it will be.” He states blankly, watching Hijikata try to light the fire. “Downward movement, faster too.”

Hijikata does as he is told, mimicking the motions he’d just watched the other do. Soon enough, the little white smoke begins to puff up from the wood, Gintoki nodding in approval. 

“Keep at the spears the next two days, like I said you’ve got a good arm on you. If you need any help I’ll be around, of course.” 

“What are you doing now?” Hijikata says, dropping the wood onto the ground and standing up, Gintoki already dusting off the dirt from the back of his pants. 

“Off to somewhere, don’t want to bring too much attention to you. Kyuubei probably has something to say to me so I’m going to her first, then after…” Gintoki shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know, whatever feels like a good idea.” And then he’s gone, like before in the elevator, just as quickly as he had come.

-

“Hijikata, good news!” Kondo says, coming in from the door to their suite and immediately talking across the room. He’s waving a piece of paper in his hands back and forth above his head, Hijikata’s eyebrows pinching in confusion as he ate his dinner on the couch. “You’ve got four tributes who want to ally with you!”

“I’m sorry…” Hijikata says, shaking his head lightly, sure he had misunderstood. _“What-?”_

“Four tributes who want to be your ally on the first day of training! Let’s see, who do we have here… Minamito Sui from three, Harada Unosuke from six, Sakata Gintoki from seven, and Yamazaki Sagaru from ten.” Kondo names off the list, folding the paper up and back into the pocket of his jacket. “I don’t know what you did but keep doing it―”

“They saw him throw. A spear, I mean.” Nobume says, interrupting him, coming down the stairs from the top floor, “Miss it, actually. Then hit the target in the throat on the next.” 

“I’m not that good, not good enough to warrant this amount of attention.” Hijikata rebukes back, their mentor standing confused between the two. 

“Good enough to hit in vital areas four out of five times.” She says back, voice monotone, “I watched all of them.” 

“Where is all of this even coming from?” Hijikata blurts out, setting the rest of his unfinished food down on the glass coffee table.

Nobume merely looks at him without a reply, seemingly dropping her involvement in the conversation and beginning to fix her own plate. Kondo turns back to Hijikata, a perplexed tilt in his slight smile before speaking, “So, are there any out of the four that you trust enough to ally with? I know it’s early, so we can always tell them that you’re still making up your mind.”

“I…” Hijikata begins, anxiety wheeling up in his chest. “I’m still making up my mind, then.”

Kondo nods, understanding as he sits down to talk to Hijikata about what he’d done with his training today, how he’d fared in the mandatory exercises, and what he should expect in the two days coming up. 

Hijikata tells him everything that he could remember, with some of it simply being blurry from panicking. He thinks he did pretty well in the required exercises, but he wasn’t entirely sure, all the eyes of the other twenty-three on him had his mind a little bit distracted. Hijikata also speaks of the _spear situation_ and Gintoki and what the perm had told him, Kondo listening intently, nodding his head in agreeance ever so often.

Kondo inputs his own mentoring after hearing what Gintoki had said, reaffirming that the most important measure to surviving the human aspect of the games was being able to kill when the time came.

“No one comes out of the games the same person that they enter them.” Kondo says, motioning for Hijikata to resume eating while he spoke, “Everything changes the moment your name is called out on that stage. Though, I’m sure you already knew that. How you ready yourself for those changes makes all the difference in deciding who gets to walk out of that arena the victor.” His mentor laughs, deep-set and tired, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. “Frankly, I don't know how I even prepared for it. Everything seems like a blur now, looking back. Not that I don’t know what I’m doing, of course―”

“I believe that you do.” Hijikata interrupts. “You’ve been more than helpful so far and I understand your teachings.” 

Kondo smiles, his head dropping low in a quick, gracious bow. “Thank you, Toshi. My apologies for allowing my own experiences to get in the way of our talk. Now then, do you have any questions about anything, the training, the arena? Anything at all?” 

Hijikata hadn’t at the moment but he quickly found one to ask about, Kondo happily answering with as much helpful information he could give. One question ends up turning to two, two to three, the conversation flowing between mentor and tribute well into the early hours of the morning, their bones cracking from being in the same place for so long as they finally got up to go to bed. 

It’s not the most bountiful amount of sleep that he’s gotten in his life but it is the best that he’s had since the reaping, Kondo’s calming presence and advice helping him feel more at ease about the next few upcoming days. Though he had initially thought his mentor ill-equipped to properly teach and instruct them, Hijikata now understands that it was his own blindsided bias towards him. Kondo might not have won the games in the most flashy and heroic way possible, maybe he didn’t carry himself like all the other victors and mentors, but he did manage to keep himself alive through to the end, and he had an ample amount of knowledge and tactics that he was confident would help Hijikata too. 

For the first time in many nights, Hijikata sleeps soundly. 

-

The following day and day after, the training sessions are rigorous, Hijikata’s arm aching from the weight of the spear leaving his fingers time and time again. It hurts, but Ghalen always has praise for his improvement every water break he takes, talking about what he has done good and focusing on what he can correct while he throws. He shows Hijikata clips from other victors whose main hand weapon was a spear, talks about their form and how they used the environment to their advantage with it, Hijikata nodding his head in understanding, water running down his chin as he drank. 

Gintoki is around too, of course, every now and then Hijikata catches a glance of him across the training center, most often helping Kyuubei with weapon handling. _She seems to be keen on the xiphos sword,_ Ghalen had said offhandedly to him one time after catching Hijikata staring, reminding him once more to have another weapon he can use to defend himself if things don’t go the way that he wanted them to in the games.

Nobume never does pick up a weapon throughout the three days that they are in the training room together, Hijikata would surely notice if she did. On the contrary, she seems content with the survival stations, her eyes wandering to watch all the other tributes work, her hands staying busy as they tied knots and secured snares together. 

When it’s time for the individual training sessions late into the second day, Hijikata goes before her, Kondo and Ghalen instructing him alongside one of the sword experts, sparring through the hour and a half private teachings. As he’s told to do, every strike he makes towards the padded assistant is with intent to kill, sweat dripping down the side of his face as the man spit insult after curse at his face, his blows equally unforgiving as his words. 

It’s all part of the training and it does its job well, Hijikata comes to learn. He feels more collected than angered at the verbose jabs, more spurred on to fight back with each bruise that blooms plum-purple on his skin. He might not have had the most glorious of entrances, but as Kondo had said, the games never allow a person to stay the same as who they were before. He can either allow himself to succumb to the fear of death, or he can accept that possible fate and run like hell the opposite way in hope by some stroke of luck or preparation, he avoids it altogether. 

By the time that the third day’s private evaluations come late in the evening, Hijikata’s foot bounces apprehensively in the waiting chair. Nobume is across from him, still as a statue-like always, an unreadable expression on her face. He wonders what she plans on showing the gamemakers, having spent all of her time at the less physical stations the past three days. However, he’s not given a lot of time to think about it, because one by one, the tributes in front of Hijikata begin to disappear, called into the room by a woman’s robotic voice in three-minute intervals. 

Nobume is taken in before him, wordlessly getting up from her chair with the same silent grace that she always has, not ever sparing a glance in his direction.

His heart is racing now, aching arms and tired feet suddenly pulsing with the beat of his heart, his body a lit with some weird form of excitement and fear. Although he’d been in the Capitol for days now, eating its food, training and living in its facilities, it feels like this is the first real test to his chance of survival in the games. Maybe because it is; though Kondo had stressed the importance of smiling and waving for sponsors, sponsors would not be able to intervene when he had a knife to his throat or gut, it wouldn’t be _their_ bodies bleeding out in the dirt. 

This is the first testament to how well he will do, and it’s to the reverberation of his name through the room that Hijikata wipes his hands on the side of his thick pants, the ghost of his name echoing through the hall. He stands, pairs and pairs of eyes following him as he disappears into the training center. 

Immediately, he’s greeted with the cold lighting that the Capitol loved so much, the illumination casting baby blue shadows in the dim room. The gamemakers are causing a commotion ahead of him, laughing and talking amongst themselves, wine glasses in hand, asses in plush royal-purple seats. The flush magenta lights shine down above the men, them being the only thing that stood out in the chilly blue and silver of the rest of the room. 

Before him, a rack of thin, shiny spears stands lonely in the open floor, a blue back-lit target dummy like the ones he had been practicing with the past three days at the end of the range. He takes a spear in a shaky hand, eyes still upcast to where the makers were chatting amongst themselves. 

He’s being ignored. 

Is it because they were now done with all the careers?― he didn’t know for certain. Still, he clears his throat and takes a few wordless steps over to the beginning of the range. 

It’s much more unnerving here without the bustle of all the other contenders, without Ghalen’s simple comments and presence beside him as he took his spear over his shoulder in preparation. With a quick adjust on the middle of the shaft, he steps, the weapon gliding through the air and into the side of the foam figures’ thigh on the other side. 

He hears some laughing over his shoulder which he’s not entirely sure is about his pathetic throw or not, the gamemakers that had been watching now swiveling inward toward their coworkers in conversation. Shit. 

Jogging over to the rack where the spears stood once more, he snatches one up into his hand, the steel cold in his palm. This time, he doesn’t settle for readying himself, not stopping as he throws the weapon out of anger and some self-satisfying urge for retaliation. It whirs as it slices through the air, embedding itself into the inner ring of the chest’s target. Proud of its placement, Hijikata’s head whips around to see if any of the gamemakers had changed their tone, smile stifled on his lips. 

The men are laughing all the same, now standing over the table overflowing with food and drink, not one eye cast down to see what Hijikata was doing. 

It’s thoroughly enraging, a low pit of anger sinking into the bottom of his stomach. 

He picks up another spear, this time making sure it sunk into the groin of the dummy, walking out without bothering to excuse himself. 

-

Hijikata awakes to the calls of Kondo’s voice the following morning, something about _breakfast_ and _important._

When he gets dressed and down the stairs, Nobume and Itou are already there, along with Kondo fixing his plate at the table. 

“You slept in.” His mentor says, and Hijikata’s eyes hit the clock on the opposite wall, finding out that it was almost ten forty-five. “Not that it’s a problem. Sit and eat, though. It’s almost time for the scores to come on.”

Hijikata does as he’s told, walking down to the table and picking out what catches his eye, there seemingly being no care for food shortage in the Capitol. Since he had gotten onto the train, every meal could stuff one person entirely full and feed them over again. However gorging on different Capitol foods had never been his favorite pastime and it was unlikely it would ever be since practically everything on the table came from the exploitation of districts nine, ten, and eleven― something that made him sicker to his stomach than the idea of getting a full belly.

Itou and Kondo are idly talking over a multitude of things from the careers this year to what Itou has planned for tonight’s interviews, which Hijikata doesn’t even want to acknowledge exist yet. In some odd sense of relief, the man who will be interviewing him in several mere hours comes onto the screen, his hair a bright periwinkle purple beneath the lighting they have cast on him. 

The middle-aged man introduces himself once more, Hijikata recognizing him as the loud announcer that had commented on district seven’s appearance when they had arrived in the Capitol from the train, his name Leonardi Harp. Leonardi, now done with introductions, gets right into explaining the scoring system and how it works, his voice ringing from different areas in their penthouse as he talked. 

“The tributes are given a score ranging from one to twelve, one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. Now, starting with district one, Abuto with a score of… nine. Kada, with a score of… nine. District two, Kamui, with a score of… ten.” 

The careers continue on with their high numbers, only interrupted by the six and five from district three. The tribute’s moving figures shadow the wall behind Leonardi crossed-armed as he reads, whatever number the gamemakers had assigned to them panning across the screen the moment it leaves his mouth. The guy, Jiraia, and girl, Sarutobi, from district four each are given respective tens, Hijikata’s lips pressing into a thin line as Leonardi calls out district five.

Then, all too soon, his upper body is cast in the corner of the screen, his face looking uncharacteristically flat. He wonders how they’ve managed to make this video, but he’s not given much time to think about it when Leonardi pauses to announce Hijikata’s score, his mouth going dry in apprehension. 

“Hijikata Toshiro with a score of… eight.” 

Kondo’s eyes light up at him from across the couch, Itou even seeming momentarily impressed at the score. “Congratulations, Toshi! That is definitely a score that we can work with!” 

Hijikata can’t do anything but mutter out a quick and quiet thank you back at his mentor, astounded that they hadn’t given him a five or six like he thought they would.

Nobume is thrown up on the screen next, Leonardi’s lips crooking into something of a suppressed smile as he read out, “Imai Nobume, with a score of… ten.” 

Once more, the room erupts in praise and commendation, Kondo raising his glass to her score as she nodded her head at whatever they had to say, donut stuffed in her mouth. Hijikata as well is there, giving her acclamations, because it is no small feat to get a ten when one was not a career― though, Hijikata has zero idea how she’d done it. 

Everyone settles down, in order to hear the next district’s scoring. District six is nothing special, average numbers trailing across the screen. Harada is one of the ones who had offered Hijikata an allyship, something of which he had yet to decline or accept. Gintoki was the only one that he’d ended up saying yes to, the rest Kondo had left for him to figure out by the beginning of the interviews.

District six passes by insignificantly, Hijikata’s fist clenching around the water glass he has in his hand, Gintoki’s face next to be cast behind the announcer. 

There’s silence in the room, everyone being respectful of Hijikata as he watches his ally’s name cross the lips of Leonardi. 

“District seven, Sakata Gintoki, with a score of… eleven.”

The next thing he feels is water splash over his feet, wetting the expensive rug, the glass fallen from his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did it justice and relieved some of the concerns that have been voiced about Hijikata lmao, the boy does have a fighting chance, I promise. 
> 
> thanks for giving me your time and support, I'll see y'all very soon. :^)) have a great day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for some hunger games ngl so I hope I did this right.


End file.
